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 fTHÈl 
 LIFE 
 
 
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 I LIBRARY 
 
 I UNIVERSITY OF 
 
 I rALIfORNIA 
 
 I SAN DIEGO ;
 
 iiliiliii 
 
 1''f,.?*1 DIEGO 
 
 nriiiiii iiirii Tini 
 
 3 1822 00467 3711 
 
 P6{
 
 'iiu: m;\v I.JIJ-;
 
 H«ad of Dante 
 
 (Pr.nitn^- hs f. li. Koistltn
 
 C1)C iìCVD Ulte 
 
 ^LA MIA NL"0\A; 
 
 DAN II ALIGHIIRI 
 
 l'RANSI.ATKD HV 
 /; . /X 1 E G . Ili KIEL RU SS E i ' 7 7 
 
 N K \y York. 
 HOMAS Y. CROWKLL i5 CO. 
 
 4* U H I. I S H K R S
 
 CJjc iìrU) 2.tfr 
 
 (La \ ilii A iKira J 
 
 ¥ \ tli.-it part of the IxmU of my iiifiiiory ht'f'ore 
 ■* the which is littlf thit cm lie read, there is 
 .1 rubric, savin;;, I nei pit lilii Xora. L'nder such 
 rubric I find written many thin<r.s; and among them 
 the words which 1 ])ur|)ose to copy into this little 
 hook; it" not all of them, at the least their substance. 
 Nine times already since my birth had the heaven 
 of light returned to the selfsame point almost, ns 
 concerns its own revolution, when first the glorious 
 Lady of my mind was made manifest to mine eyes; 
 even slie who w.is called Beatrice by many who 
 knew not wherefore. She had already been in this 
 life for so long as that, within her time, the starry 
 heaven had moved towards the l.astern (piarter one 
 of the twchc jiarts of a degree; so that she ap- 
 peared to me at the beginning of her ninth year 
 almost, and I saw her almost at the end of my 
 ninth year. Her dress, on that day, was of a most 
 noble colour, a subdued and goodly crimson, girdled 
 and adorned in such sort as bist suited with her 
 very ti-nder age. At that motnent, I say most truly 
 that the sjiirit of life, which hath its dwelling in 
 the secretest chamber of tlie heart, began to treiiiltle 
 so violently that the le.isl pulses of my body shook
 
 ZUc OfUi Ulte 
 
 tlitrcwitli ; .irKi in lr<iiil)liiiji it s.iid tlicst- words: 
 i'.cci' deus fortior mv, t/iii tfiiirns tlomiiKthitur mihi. 
 At tli.it inoinriit tlu' aiiiiii.-itc spirit, which dwcllcth 
 ill ihf IoJ"ty fhamlu'r whither all the srnsfs carry 
 their pereeptions. was filled with wonder, and 
 speakinj; more especially unto the spirits of" tin- 
 eyes, said these words: Apparuit jam lnuititudu 
 vi'stra. At that inoineiit the n.itural sj)irit. whieli 
 dwelleth there where olir noiirishiiieiit is admin- 
 istered, lie^an to weep, and in weepinj; said these 
 words: Urn iin.scr! tjiiiti f rcijitfiilfr iniprdHiis ero 
 diiiicrps. 
 
 I say that, from that time ("orw.ird. I,o\c (piite 
 governed my soul; which was imiiK'diatelv espoused 
 to him. and with so safe anil undisputed a lordsliip 
 (by virtue of stronj^ imajrination ) that I had noth- 
 inj; left for it hut to do all his bidding continuallv. 
 He oftentimes commanded me to seek it" I mij^ht 
 se»- this youn<rest of" the An<;els: wherefore I in mv 
 hoyhood oftt n went in search ol her, and found 
 her so nohle and j)raiseworlhy that certainly of her 
 mi^ht have beer» said those words of the poet 
 Homer, " She si-emcd not to be the dauf^hter of a 
 mortal inan. but of (Jod. " And albeit her imaj^e, 
 that was with mc always, was an exultation of Love 
 to subdue inc. it was yet of so perfect a (piality that 
 it never allowed me to be overruled by I.ove with- 
 out the faithful counsel of reason, wlu-nsocver such 
 counsel was useful to be heard. Hut secinj? that 
 were I to dwi-Il overmuch on the p.issions and doings 
 of such early youth, my words might be counted 
 something f.ibulous, I will therefore put them 
 aside; .and j).issing m.iiiy things tli.at m.iy be con- 
 ceivi (1 by the p.ittcrn of these. I will come to such 
 as are writ in niv inemorv with .a better distinctness.
 
 The Salutation of Beatiice m Flor< 
 ( Drannu^ by D. C fCossfttt)
 
 ZUc OcUj il iff 
 
 Af'trr tlic lapse of so iii.iiiy days that nine years 
 'xactlv were completed sinee the ahove-written ap- 
 pearance of" this most {jraeioiis hein}^, on the last of 
 those days it hajjpcned that the same wonderful 
 lady apj)eared to me dresst-d all in pure wiiite. Ix- 
 tween two trenth' ladies elder than she. And pass- 
 in<r throiiji;h a street, she turned her eyes thither 
 where I stood sorely abashed: and hy her unspeak- 
 able courtesy, which is now jfuerdoned in the Great 
 ('\(le. she saluted me with so virtuous a bearing 
 that 1 seemed then and ther»' to behold the very 
 limits of blessedness. Tlit hour of her most sweet 
 salutatiorj was exactly the ninth of that day; and 
 because it was the first time that any words from 
 her reached mine cars, I came into such sweetness 
 that I p.irted thence as one intoxicated. And be- 
 taking me to tile loneliness of mine own room, I 
 fell to thinkiiifT of this most courteous lady, think- 
 ing of whom I was overtaken by a pleasant slund)er. 
 wherein a marvellous vision w.is |)resented to me: 
 for tiiere appeared to le in my room .i mist of the 
 colour of fir»', within the which I discernt-d the 
 figure of a lord of terrible aspect to such as should 
 gaze upon him, but who seemed therewithal to re- 
 joice inwardly th.it it w.is a marvel to se»-. .*^peak- 
 ing he said m.my things, among the which I could 
 underst.ind but few; and oi lliese. this: l\u:(> doiii- 
 iiiii.s I mix. In his .arms it seemed to me tlial .i 
 person w.is sleeping, covered only with .i blood- 
 coloured cloth; upon whom looking mtv .ittentively, 
 I knew tli.it it W.IS the l.ady of the s.dutation who 
 had deigned the d.ay before to s.ilute me. And he 
 who held her held n\sn in his li.iiid .1 thing tli.it 
 was burning in fl.imes; .ind he s.iid to me. J'idr 
 cur luuin. \i\\[ wht 11 lie h.id reiii.'iiiird \\ith me
 
 «Tin- Of 111 iiiff 
 
 a little wliilr. I tlioti^lit tli.it III' s<t lliliisilt' to 
 aw.iktri Imt tli.it sl< pt ; iltrr tin- which he m;ul«- 
 lii-r t(i cat that lliiii;; which tlaiiii d in his hand; 
 and she ate as one tearing. 'I'hcn. ha\in;^ waited 
 a;;ain a space, all his joy was tiirm-d into most 
 hitter weepin»;; and as lit wept he jjatlured the 
 I idy into his amis, and it s« i iiied to me that 
 he Went with Imp up low.irds heaviii: wherehy 
 such a <;reat anijiiish cime upon iiu- that my 
 li<rht slinnlier eotild not endure tlirou;;!) it. Imt 
 was suddenlv lirokeii. And inunediately having 
 considered. I knew that the hour wherein this vision 
 had heen made m mifest to uu' w.is the fourth hour 
 (which is to siy. the first ot" the nine list hours) 
 of the nijjlit. 
 
 Then, musini; on what I had s««n. I pro|)osed to 
 relate the sann' to many |)oels who wen- famous in 
 that dav: and for that ! h.id myself in some sort the 
 art of discoiirsini; with rhyme. I resolved on making 
 a sonnet, in the which, lia\ in<; saluted all such as 
 are subject unto I, ove. and entrt-aled them to ex- 
 pound mv \ision, I should write unto them those 
 thiniis which I had s«en in my sleep. .\nd I he son 
 m t 1 made was this : — 
 
 To e\(rv heart which the sweet p.iin iloth move. 
 And unto which these words m.iy now he hrouuhl 
 I"or true interpretation and kiiui thou;;ht. 
 
 He frrectiiif; in our Lord's name, which is I.o\«-. 
 
 Of those Ioni; hours wlienin the stars, alnive. 
 Wake and k( ( p w.iteli. the thirtl was almost 
 
 nouirlit . 
 When I.(i\e W.IS shown me with such terrors 
 fr.iu^ht 
 
 As may not carelessly he spoken of.
 
 Zi]c pcU) ìlifc 
 
 Hf scrmt'd like oiu' wlio is f nil ol joy, nud had 
 My lii-.-irt witliiii his hand, and on his arm 
 My lady, with a inaiith- round her, slt-pt; 
 \\'honi (having wakened her) anon he made 
 To eat that heart; she ate, as fearing harm. 
 Then he went out ; and as he went, he wept. 
 
 77//.V soiinrt is tliritlcil iiilt) ( tro jkiiIs. In the 
 first pent I give liicttiiiii, and ask an ausircr; in 
 lite .second, I sifrnifi/ uiiat titiu<r has to he answered 
 to. Tlie second p.irt coìnnicnccs licrc: " Of those 
 long hours." 
 
 To tliis sonnet I reeei\ed many answers, convey- 
 ing many diHerent o])inions; of" the which one was 
 sent hy him whom I now call the first among my 
 friends, and it began thus, " Into my tliinking 
 thou hehehl'st all worth." And indeed, it was 
 when he learned that I was lie who had sent those 
 rhymes to him, that our friendship comniene«'d. 
 Hut the true meaning of that vision was not then 
 perceived by any one. thougli it be now e\ idi iit to 
 the least skilful. 
 
 l'"rom that night iortli. th<' natural timetions of 
 my body bi-gan to be vexed and imjx'di-d. for I was 
 given up wholly to thinking of this most gracious 
 enature: when by in short sp.ice I beeam»- so weak 
 and so reduced that it was irksome to many of my 
 friends to look upon m<'; wliil» others, being moved 
 by spite, went about to discover what it was my wish 
 should be concealed. \\ ht rt fore I (perceiving the 
 drift of th<'ir unkindly (piestions). by Love's will, 
 who directed me according to the comisels of rea.son, 
 told them how it was I.o\c biuiselt who had thus 
 
 I t) I
 
 Che Orili li if e 
 
 (I>mII wit II inr ; .ukI I s.iid SII. Iicc.iiisc t III tiling was 
 so pl.iinly ti» l»i- <lisc(rrn (1 iii my couiittii.-iiicf that 
 tlitrr was no loiif^cr any nuans of coiifcalinj; it. 
 l'ut wlitti tlity wiiit on to ask: " And liy wliosr lnl|) 
 li.itli I.o\c (lonr tiiis? ' I looked in tlitir f acrs sniil- 
 iiii:;. and spaki mi \Mird in n turn. 
 
 Now it Irli on .1 d ly. lliit this nio.sl ^rarious 
 crt'aturr was siltin^c wlnn words won- to l)r heard 
 of the (furili ol" (ilory ; and I was in a place whence 
 mine ey«s could licliold their lieatitnde: and hetwixt 
 her and me. in a direct lin«'. tlicr»' sal aiiother lady 
 of a pleasant favour; who looked round at me many 
 times. niar\('llin^ at my continued jra/.e which 
 seemed to ha\c lur for its ohjecl. And many per- 
 eri\i(l tii.il sill thus looked; so that de|)artinf; 
 tliiiicr, I heard it whispered after me. " Look you 
 to wli.il a pass .v//(7; (I hull/ hath lirou^ht him; " and 
 in saving, this tiny named her who had been mid- 
 way I.etwii II the most «lentie Heatrice and mine 
 eyes, 'riiereforc I was reassured, and knew that 
 for that day my secret had not become manifest. 
 Then immediately it came into my mind that I 
 mi<?ht make us»' of this l.ady as a screen to the truth: 
 and so well did I ])lay my part that the most of 
 those who liad hitlurto watched and womhred at me 
 now ifiiafrined they had found me out. Hy lur means 
 I kept my secret concealed till some years were gone 
 o\er; and for my better security I »-vcn made divers 
 rhymes in her honour; whereof I shall Iure write 
 only .IS much .as concerneth the most gentle lie.a- 
 trice. which is but a Mry little. Moreov«T. about 
 the s.iuie time while this l.idy w.is a screen for s») 
 mucii lo\e on my ))art. I took the resolution to set 
 down the n.ime of this most gracious creature 
 accompanied with iniiiy other women's names, and 
 
 [10]
 
 Zt\c |>ctD ìiìk 
 
 especially with litrs whom I spake of. And to this 
 end I put together the names of sixty of the most 
 beautiful ladies in th.it eity where (jod had placed 
 mine own lady; and tliese names I introduced in an 
 epistle in the form of a sirvciit. which it is not my 
 intention to transcribe here. Neither should I have 
 said anything of this matter, did I not wish to take 
 note of a certain strange thing, to wit: that having 
 written tlie list, I found my lady's name would not 
 stand otherwis<' than ninth in order .niKUig the names 
 of these ladies. 
 
 Now it so c-hanced with her by whose means I had 
 thus long time concealed my desire, that it behoved 
 her to leave the city I speak of, and to journey afar: 
 wherefore I, being sorely perj^lexed at the loss of 
 so excellent a defence, had more trouble than even 
 I could before liave sujiposcd. .\nd thinking that 
 if I spoke not somewhat mourniully of her depart- 
 ure, my former counterfeiting would be the more 
 (juickly ])erceived, I determined that I would make 
 a grievous sonnet theri-of; the which I will write 
 here, because it hath certain words in it whereof 
 my lady was the innnediate cause, as will be plain 
 to him that understands. Atid the sonnet was 
 this: — 
 
 All ye that pass along Love's trodden way, 
 Pause ye awhile and say 
 
 If there be any grief like unto mine: 
 I pray you that you hearken :i short s))ace 
 Patiently, if my cise 
 
 He not a piteous ninrvil and a sign. 
 
 I,o\e (ncM'r, certes, for my worthless ])art, 
 Hut of his own great heart.) 
 
 \'ouchsafed to me a life so calm and sweet 
 
 I 11 I
 
 sTlìf Oc 111 il iff 
 
 rii.it (lit I III ini liijk (|ll('^ti<l|| MS ! wirit 
 \\ li.it MK'li ^rc.it f;l.i(liuss ini-.int : 
 
 Tiny >|Kikr of it licliind ini- in tin- si net. 
 
 liiil now lli.il |"i-.irlrss lu-.iriii;; is ,ill ^niir 
 
 W liifli with lx)\r'.s liii.'inl'il \v« .iltli w.is jrivni me; 
 Till I .1111 Lcmwii til 111' 
 Sn |uM)r tliil I li.i\c (In 1(1 1(1 think tlicrcdri. 
 
 And thus it is th.it I. hcin^ like .'is oiic 
 Who is .ish.imi'd .ind hides his ixncrty. 
 A\'ithinit sctin tuli (»l fZ^rt\ 
 
 And lit my hciii within tr.i\.iil .ind nio.in. 
 
 77//.V porn) lui.s tiro priiiii/xtl partx ; f'ltr, in the 
 first, I nifdii to mil tin- Faitiijul of Low in tlio.sr 
 words of Jcrcniids tin- Proplirt, " () vos «)iiiii<-s (|iii 
 tr.msitis per \i.iiii. .ittcnditc »t \ idrtr si fst doKir 
 .siciit dolor mens. tinil to prnji tiicm to -itaif and 
 hear nir. In the .second 1 tril irlirrr I, on- had 
 placed me, with a nieanin<r other than that irhich 
 the last part of the poem shoirs, and I sai/ what I 
 hare lost. The second part hei^ins here, " Lore, 
 ( never, certes )." 
 
 A ccrt-iin while .-ifter the dep.irtiire of th.-it Inly, 
 it ple.i.scd the M.ister ol the Angels to f.'dl into His 
 <;lory a d;inisel, youiij; .md of a /^«'iille j)rfsen»T. 
 who h.id heeii \«ry lovely in the city I spe.ik ot : 
 .111(1 I siw her hody lyin;; without its soul .iniong 
 ni.iny I idii s. who held ;i pitiful weeping. Where- 
 upon, n ni( niherinj; tli.it 1 h.id sren her in tlir coni- 
 p.my of cxcclh-nt HcatricT, I could not hinder niy- 
 s«'lf from .1 few tears; ;nid weepinj;. I conceived to 
 say soniewh.it of her de.ith, in jjuerdon of having
 
 €()c IìcUj ilifc 
 
 seen lit-r soiiMwIiilc witli my lady; wliicli lliinj; I 
 spake of in tlu- latter end of the verses that I writ 
 in this matter, as he will diseern who understands. 
 And I wrote two sonnets, which are these: — 
 
 I. 
 
 Weep, Lovers, sitli I,o\«"s very srlf doth weep, 
 
 And sith the cause for weepinfr is so frrtat ; 
 
 When now so many dames, of such estate 
 In wortli, show with their eyes a fjrief so deej): 
 Tor Death the ehurl has laid his li-aden sli» p 
 
 Upon a damsel who was fair of late. 
 
 Defacing all our earth should ethhrate. — 
 Yea all sa\c virtui'. which tlie soul doth keep. 
 Now hearken how much I,o\f did honour her. 
 
 I myself saw him in his proper form 
 
 BendinjT above the motionless sweet dead. 
 And often jjazin^ into lie.aven; for ther»- 
 
 Till- soul now sits which when her life was warm 
 l)w<lt with the joyful h( auty tliat is Hed. 
 
 77//.V first soutiet is dìvitlcd into tlirrc parts. In 
 the first, I ((ill (111(1 hcscrrh the Faitliful of Love 
 to ii'ccp; and I sai/ that their Lord weeps, and that 
 the)/, hearing the reason trhi/ he ireeps, shcdl 
 be more minded to listen to nie. In the second, I 
 relate this reason. In the third, I spealc of honour 
 done bi/ Love to this Ladi/. The second part bei^ins 
 here, " IVhen non- so inani/ dantes; " the third here, 
 '■ Xow hearken." 
 
 [I'M
 
 Zi)C pcU) il Iff 
 
 II. 
 
 Dkatii, .ilw.iys (TUt I. I'ily's foe in c-lii«f, 
 
 .M(»tli«T wild hpDUj^lit forth grief", 
 
 Mircilcss i ii(li;iiit lit .111(1 without appeal I 
 Si:u'i- thoii .iliiiic li.ist iii.i(ie my he.irt t(» fCil 
 'llli.s .s;i(iiir.s.s and uiiWf.il, 
 
 My t(»iiu;ue uphraidttli thee without n lief. 
 
 And now (^tor I must rid thy ii.iiin' of ruth) 
 
 Hehovi'.s nie .speak the I rulli 
 
 Touehing thy cruelty ,iiid wickedness: 
 
 Not that they he not known; Imi ne'ertheless 
 
 I would };i\c h.ite more stress 
 
 With tliein th.it tfed on love in very sooth. 
 
 Out ol this world thou h.isl driven courtesy. 
 And virtue, dearly |)rized in womanhood; 
 And out of youth's <jay mood 
 
 The hivcly li<rhtness i.s (}uitc gone through thee. 
 
 W lioin now I mourn, no ni.in shall le.irn from me 
 Save liy IIk measure of these praises given. 
 W hoso d<ser\es not Heaven 
 
 .M.iy ne\ir hope to have her comp.iny. 
 
 77//.V poctii i.s (lir'ulcd into four [xirts. In tin 
 first I (iddrc.s.s Dcaili hi/ ccrlaiii proper names of 
 liirs. In the scronil, .speaking to her, I fell the 
 reason nlii/ I am inored to denounee her. hi the 
 third I mil a^ain.st her. In the fourth, I turn to 
 spilli: to (I person undefined, altìioiiiiìi defined in 
 mil oirn lonrrption. Tin- second part eommenee.s 
 
 I 1 1- I
 
 €f)e IfJcto Hift 
 
 here, "Since thou alour; " the third here, " And 
 now (for I must); " the fourth here, " iVhoso de- 
 serves not." 
 
 Soiiif (lays after tlif dfatli n\' this lady. I liad oc- 
 casion to leave tlie city I speak ol", and to go tliither- 
 \var(]s where s\\v abode who liad formerly l)een my 
 protection; albeit the end of my journey reached 
 not altogether so far. And notwithstanding that I 
 was visibly in the eomiiany ol many, the journey 
 was so irksome that I had scarcely sighing enough 
 to ease my heart's heaviness; seeing that as I went, 
 I left my beatitude behind me. \\'htrefore it came 
 to pass that lie who ruUd me by virtue of my most 
 gentle lady was made visible to my mind, in the 
 light habit of a traveller, coarsely fashioned. He 
 appeared to me troubled, and looked always on the 
 ground; saving only that sonictimrs his eyes were 
 turned towards a ri\rr which w is ( bar and rapid, 
 and which flowed along the path 1 was taking. 
 And then I thought that Love called me and said to 
 me these words: " I come from that lady who was 
 so long thy surety; for the matter of whose re- 
 turn, I know that it may not be. Wlieri fon I have 
 taken that heart which I made thee leave with 
 her, and do bear it unto another lady. who. as she 
 was, sh.all be thy surety; " (and when he named her 
 I knew her well). " And of these words I have 
 spoken, if thou shouldst speak any again, li-t it be 
 in such sort as that none shall jierceive thereby 
 that thy lov«- was feigned lor Ik r. which tlioii nmst 
 now feign for another." And win n he li.id spoken 
 thus, all my imagining was gone suddenly, for it 
 seemed to me tliat I,o\i- beeanic a p.irt of mvsclf: 
 so that, changed as il were in ininr aspect, 1 rode 
 
 1 15 I
 
 Z\]c pctu Ulte 
 
 on full of llioiiulit III. wlinl) i.f lli.il (lay. and with 
 hravy .sij;liin^'. And tli< day Ixinjjf ov«t, I wrntc 
 lliis sonnet : — 
 
 A II *v ap)nc. as I rode sullrnlv 
 
 I |)on a (-«Ttain path that lik« d inr not. 
 
 I nut I,o\r midway whih- the air was hot. 
 ( Icithi-d lijjhtly as a wayl'arcr niijilit he. 
 And tor the flirrr lie showed. In- seemed to luv 
 
 As one who hath lost lordshi|> he had ^ot ; 
 
 Ad\aneinj^ towrds me full of sorrowful tlioujiht. 
 Mowing his foreluad so that none should sit. 
 Till II as I went, he called me liy my iiami". 
 
 Sayinj;: " I journey sinee the morn was dim 
 
 Till ric-( wIk re I made thy heart to lie: which 
 
 MOW 
 
 \ needs must 111' ir unto anotlar dam». ' 
 
 W Inn with so iiiueli passed into nu' of him 
 That he was ;;oiie, and I discerned not how. 
 
 77/j.v sonnet has three parts. In the first part, I 
 tell how I met Love, and of his aspeet. In the 
 second, I tell n-Juit he said to me, altlnmiih not in 
 full, throiii^h the fear I hail of diseoverinfr mtf 
 secret. In the third, I sai/ how he disappeared. 
 'The second part eomnienees here, " Then as I 
 went; " the third here, " iVherewith so much." 
 
 ( )n ni\ n turn. I set myself to seek out that lady 
 whom my master had named to m«' while I jour- 
 neyed si^hin^. And liecause I would he brief, 1 
 will MOW narrate that in a short while I made her 
 my surety, in such sort that the matter was spoken 
 of liy many in terms scar<-ely I'otirteous; through 
 the wliiili I had otteiiwhiles many troublesome
 
 orile j^cvu iiiff 
 
 hours. And \>y tlli^ it liappcin d (to wit: l)y this 
 false .'ind tvil ruiiKUir whic-li siJiiud to inist'.-iiiic me 
 of vice) that .she who was the destroyer of all 
 evil and the (jueeii of all j^ood, eomiii^ where I was, 
 denied nie her most sweet s.ilutation, in the. which 
 alone was my blessedness. 
 
 And here it is fittinj; for me to depart a little 
 from this present matter, that it may be rightly 
 understood of what surj)assing virtue her salutation 
 was to iiH . Tn the which iiid I say that when shcr 
 aj)peared in any place, it seemed to me, by the hope 
 of her «xcelhiit salutation, that there was no man 
 mine enemy any longer; and such warmth of 
 cliarity came upon me that most certainly in that 
 moment I would have pardoned whosoever had done 
 me an injury; and if one should then have (pies- 
 tioned me concerning any matter, I could only have 
 said unto him, " Love," with a countenance clothed 
 in humbleness. And what time she made ready to 
 salute me. the spirit of Love, destroying all other 
 perc»-ptions, thrust forth the feeble spirits of my 
 eyes, saying, " Do hom.ige unto your mistress," 
 and putting itself in their place to obey: so th.it he 
 who would, might then have beheld Love, behold- 
 ing the lids of mine eyes shake. And when this 
 most gentle lady gave her salutation, Love, so far 
 from being a medium beclouding mine intolerable 
 b»'atitude, then bred in me such .m t)verp(twering 
 sweetniss that my body, being all subjected there- 
 to, remained many times helpless and passive. 
 \N'hereby it is made manifest that in her salutation 
 alone was there any beatitude for me. which then 
 \<ry often went beyond my enduranti . 
 
 And now, resuming my discourse, I will go on to 
 relate that when, for the (irst time, this beatitude 
 
 LI' J
 
 ZUc Orili li iff 
 
 w.is (!( iiiid UIC. I lictMim |Hississ<(| witli siifli j^riff" 
 tli.it, partili^ iiiysclC troni otlnrs. 1 wi-iit into a 
 lonriy plart- to liatlif tlu- ^njund witli most hitter 
 tears: and wlun, liy this heat of w««j)in^, 1 was 
 soniewliat relit-ved, I hetook myself to my chamher, 
 where I couhl lament unheard. And there, li.iv- 
 ììì}f pr.iyed to the L.ady of .ill Mercies, .and li.i\ iiij; 
 said .also, " () Love, aid thou thy servant," 1 wi nt 
 suddenly .ash-ep like .a he.iten sohhin^ child. And 
 in my sleep, tow.ards th<- middle ol it, 1 seemed 
 to see in the room, seated .at my side. ;i youth in 
 very white r.iiment, who kept his eyes fixed «ui me 
 in deep tlioujrht. And when he Ii.ad jf.azed some 
 time. I ihou^ht tli.it he sighed .and e.illed to me in 
 these words: " l'ili mi, tcnipii.s est iit pra-tfniiii- 
 (diitiir siiiiiiltittt iiiistid." And thereupon 1 seemed 
 to know him: for tiie voice w.as the s.ame wherewith 
 he h.ad spoken .at other times in my sleep. Then 
 lookini; .at him, I perceived th.at he w.is weepiiijr 
 piteously, .111(1 tli.it he seemed to hi' w.aitinj; for me 
 to spe.ik. \\'her<fore, t.iking lie.irt. I he^.an thus: 
 
 Why weepi'st thou, M.aster of .ill honour: " .Viid 
 he made .answer to mo: "Ego taiujitain centrum 
 ciniili, (Ili simili modo se Jiaht'iit cirrumfcmilia' 
 partes: tu nut cm non sic." And thinkinff u))on his 
 words, they seemed to me ohscure; so th.at .i^j.iin 
 compelling myself unto s|)eecli, 1 .asked of him: 
 
 W'li.at tiling is this, M.aster, th.it thou li.ist spoken 
 thus d.arkly.'''" To the which he ni.ade .answer in 
 the vulir.ar toniriK : " Dem.ind no more tli.an m.ay he 
 iis( rul til Ihrc." \\ liciTupon I hejr.an to discourse 
 with iiiiu eonet iMiiiiii; ht r s.ilut.ilion which sin- h.ad 
 dcnital me; .and when 1 had (|uesti(Mied liim of tlie 
 c.ause, he s.iid these words: "Our He.ilrice li.atli 
 heard from certain jiersons, th.at the lady whom 1 
 
 1 IS J
 
 orbe pcuj ìiifc 
 
 named to tluc wliiK- tliou joiinu \ dst full ol' sij^hs 
 i.s sorely (lis(|iiirt((l liy tliy .solicitations: .iiui tlitrc- 
 fore this most gracious creature, who is the enemy 
 of" all disquiet, being tearful of such disquiet, re- 
 fused to salute thee. lor the which reason (albeit, 
 in very sooth, thy secret must needs lia\e beeonic 
 known to her by familiar observation; it is my will 
 that thou compose certain things in rhyme, in the 
 which thou shalt set forth how strong a master- 
 ship I have obtained over thee, through her; and 
 how thou wast hers even from thy childhood. Also 
 do thou call upon him that knoweth these things to 
 bear witness to them, bidding him to speak with her 
 thereof; the which I, who am he, will do willingly. 
 And thus she shall be made to know thy desire; 
 knowing which, she shall know likewise that they 
 were deceived who spake of thee to her. And so 
 write these things, that tluy shall seem rather to be 
 s|)oken by a third person; and not directly by thei- 
 to her, which is scarce fitting. After the which, 
 send them, not without ine, where she may chance 
 to hear them; but have them fittid with a pleasant 
 nuisic, into the wlii« li I will pa^s whensoe\tr it 
 needeth." ^\'ith this speech he was away, and my 
 sleep was broken up. 
 
 W'lureupon, remembi-ring me, I knew that I had 
 beheld this vision during the ninth hour of the day; 
 and I resoh ed that 1 would make a ditty, before I 
 left my ehamlur. according to the words my master 
 had spoken. And this is the ditly thai I made: — 
 
 SoN(;, 'tis my will (hat lliou do seek out l,o\e. 
 And go with him where my dear lady is; 
 That so my cause, the which thy harmor.ies 
 
 D») plead, his better speech may tliarly pro\e. 
 
 I li) I
 
 ZUc Oflu Uiff 
 
 riimi "jncst, my ^tm^i, iii muIi i ouirtidiis kind, 
 TIi.il «veil ci)iii|>.iiii(iiil('s.s 
 
 llitMi in.iysl r«ly on lliysrll" ;iii\ wlirrc. 
 And \t[, .III tlioii WDuldsl irti llitf a s.itr iiiinJ. 
 lirsl iiiilo I. ove .iddriss 
 
 'I'liy steps; wliosr ;iid, iiiayli.ip. 'twfn- ill to 
 
 span-, 
 Sc»iii;>; tli.it slic to wlioiii llioii in.ik'sl thy 
 pr.iyi r 
 Is, IS I think, ill-iiiiiidcd unto nic. 
 And th.'it il I.ovc do not (-oinp.inion thr<-, 
 
 Thonll h.i\c ptrcli.incf siii.dl cheer to till nic of. 
 
 W ith .1 swi I I .icii lit. w 111 II thou eoinsl to her, 
 Hriiin ihou in tht m words. 
 
 I irst h.u'iii; er.ixed .i •fr.ieioiis .ludieiife: 
 He who h.ith sent me .-is his messenger, 
 L.idy. thus much records. 
 
 An thou but sutler him. in liis defence, 
 i.ove, who conies with me. hy tliine infiueiicc 
 C.-in m;ike tliis m.-in do .is it liketh liim: 
 \\ heretore, il" this f.iult is or doth hut .see»/ 
 
 Do thou eoiiceivf: for hi-. Iie.irt t-.iiinot move." 
 
 .'^.ly to her .ilsi/: " L.idy. his poor lie.irt 
 Is so conlirmed in f.iitli 
 
 'i'h.it .ill its thouj^hts .ire hut of st rviii'; thee: 
 "I'w.is e.-irly thine, .ind e mid not swerve .ip.irt. 
 'riieii. if she w.i\»reth. 
 
 IJid ill r .isk l,o\t, who knows il' these tliinn» 
 
 Aiid in tin- end, lieu of her modestly 
 To pardon so inueli holdness: saying too: — 
 If thou (h'cl.ire his de.ith to Ix- lliy i\ut\ 
 'i'he tliiiii; sli.ill lome lo p.iss, .is doth licliove."
 
 (Drawing 4> D. G. Rosstiti)
 
 Cljc pctu 3Iifc 
 
 'i'litn |)r.iy tliou oJ" tin- M.islcr of all riitii, 
 lirfori- tliou If.ivf lur tiitrc, 
 
 Tli.it lit- l)it"rifii(l my cinse and plead it well. 
 " In ^nerdon ot niv sweet rhymes and my triitli 
 (I-'.ntreat liim ) "stay with her; 
 
 Let not till lio|ii' ot' liiy poor Mr\ ant tail; 
 And if with lirr thy pleading .should pre\ail, 
 Let her look on him ind ;;i\e peace to him. ' 
 (ienlle my Sonj;, if «rood to thee it seem, 
 Do this: so worship shall be thine and love. 
 
 This (i'liiif is divided into three parts. In the 
 first, I tell it n'hither tu ^o, and I encourage it, that 
 it maif go the mure confidently, and I tell it whose 
 rompanif to join if it would go with confidence and 
 willuint any danger. In the second, I sat/ that 
 which it hehorcs the diltif to set forth. In the 
 third. I give it lea re to .\tart when it pleases, recom- 
 mending its course to the arms of Fortune. The 
 second part begins here, " iVith a sweet accent;" 
 the third here, " Gentle my Song." Some might 
 contradict me. and say that they understand not 
 whom I address in ilie second person, seeing that 
 the ditty is merely the eery words I am speahing. 
 .hid therefore I say that this douhl I intend to solre 
 and clear up in this little booh itself, at a more dif- 
 ficult passage, and then let him understand who 
 now doubts, or iconld note contradict as aforesaid. 
 
 Aftt r this \ ision i have reeorded. and having 
 written those words whieli Love had dictated to me, 
 I Itefr.iii tt) be harassed with many and di\tT.s 
 thouglits, by each of which I was surely tempted;
 
 ZUc Oflu Hifc 
 
 iiul ill (Special. llitTi- were Idiir .iiiuuiff tlitiii tlial 
 leti iiic IH) rest. Ill»' first was this: " ('crlaiiily the 
 lordship of" I,()\i- is «food; siting that it diverts thi- 
 mind from all im an thin^is. " 'I'lu- second was this: 
 "Certainly tin- lordship of I.ove is evil; siting 
 that the more homaifc his servants pay to him, tin* 
 more grievous and painful are the torments wIutc- 
 with he lornieiits them. " The third was this: "" The 
 nime of i,o\e is so sweet in the heirilij; that it 
 would not seem possilile l'or its etleels to he other 
 than sweet; seeinji; that the name must needs he 
 like unto the thiiiji named; as it is written: Xoiiiiiia 
 sunt cDiixcijin'iitKt rcniììi." And the fOurtli was this: 
 "The lady whom I.ovi' hath chosen out to j.;o\eni 
 thee is not as otlxr ladies, whose he.irts are easily 
 mo\ ed. 
 
 And hy ( neh one ol these ihoULjhls I was so sorely 
 assailed that I was like unto him who douhtetli 
 which ])ath to I ike. and wishinjr to <;<), goi'tli noi. 
 And it" I hethoufiht myself to seek out some |)oiiit 
 at tlu' which all these jiatlis mi<;ht he found to meet. 
 I di.scerncd hut one way. and that irked mc ; to wit, 
 to call upon l*ity. and to commend myself" unto her. 
 And it was till II that, t"eeliiijf a desire to write some- 
 what thereof in rhyme. I wrote this sonnet: - 
 
 .Vi.i. my thoujrhts always spi-ak to me «if I.ove, 
 ^ et ha\e hetween themselves such diticrcncc 
 That while one hids me how with mind and sense. 
 
 A second saitli, " (io to: look thou ahove; 
 
 The third one, hoping, yields me joy enouf^h ; 
 
 And with the last come tears. I scarce know 
 
 w hence : 
 All of them cr.iving pity in sore suspense, 
 
 Trcmhling with fears that the heart knoweth of, 
 
 [22]
 
 orli e pcta ilifc 
 
 And tims. tifili^ ali uiisiirc wiiicli |).ilh lo tnkc, 
 \\'i.sliin^ to speak J know not wiiat to say. 
 And lose niysilt in amorous w.indcrin^s : 
 Until, (my jieacH' with all of tlitni to make,) 
 Unto mine enemy I needs must pray, 
 
 My Lady Pity, for tlie lielj) she brings. 
 
 This .soinict »i<ii/ he divided into four pints. I u 
 the first, I sai/ aiid propound tluit all in i/ tlioii^lits 
 are coìucriìing Lore. In the second, I sat/ that thei/ 
 are diverse, and I relate their diversitif. In the 
 third, I sai/ ndicreiu tliefj all seem to a^ree. In the 
 fourth, I sai/ that, irishing to speak of Love, I know 
 not from which of these thoughts to take mi/ argu- 
 ment; and tiiat if I ivoiild take it from idl. I shall 
 have to call upon mine enemij, mi/ Lad 1/ l'iti/. 
 " Ladij," I sai/, as in a scornful mode of speech. 
 The second begins here, " Yet have between them- 
 selves; " the third, '' All of them craving; " the 
 fourth, " And thus." 
 
 After this battlinj; with many thoughts, it 
 chanced on a day that my most graeious lady was 
 with a gathering of ladies in a certain j)lace; to the 
 which I was conducted by a friend of mini-; he 
 thinking to do me a great pleasure by showing me 
 the beauty of so many women. Then I. hardly 
 knowing wheri'unto he conducted me. but trusting 
 in him (who yet was leading his friend to the last 
 vergi' of lif"e), made question: "To what end are 
 we come among these ladies.''" and he answered: 
 " To the end that they may be worthily served." 
 And they were assembled .around a gentlewom.an 
 who was given in marriage on that day; the custom 
 of the city being th.it thesi- should bear licr coni- 
 
 [23]
 
 €Uc j"}clii Uilc 
 
 p.uiy when slii- sit doun lnr llu lirsl linn- ,il l.ihlf 
 in tlic house ol" hi r hiisliMid. TlnTi-Jorr I. as was 
 my friend's phasiire, rtsdiv rd to sliy with him and 
 <h) honour to those laches. 
 
 Hut as soon as I liad thus resuhrd. I ht^an to 
 f'ci 1 a taintness and a throhhinj; at iny ht't si(h-, 
 whieh soon took possession of my whole hody. 
 thereupon I rtinendxr tliat I eovertly lean«(l my 
 haek unto a paintint; tliat r.iu roiuid the walls of 
 that house; aiul Iteing tCarlul h st my treudilin;; 
 should he discerned of the ui. I lilted mine eyes to 
 look on those ladies, and then first pereiivcd amonj; 
 them the ixeellent Htatriee. And when I pereei\ed 
 lier, all my senses were o\ crpowered liy the fjreat 
 lordship that Love obtained, finding himself so n«'ar 
 unto that most jfraeious heinj;. until nothinj; hut the 
 spirits of sijrht remained to me; and e\fn these re- 
 mained driven out ol their own instruments hc-eaus»- 
 Love entered in that honoured place of theirs, that 
 so he mi<j;ht the better behold her. And althou^rh 1 
 was other than at first. I j;ri«ved for the spirits so 
 expelled, which kept up a sore lament, savin»;: " If 
 he had not in this wise thrust us forth, we also 
 should behold the marvel of this lady. " Hy this, 
 m any of lnr I rit nds. Iia\ in<; discerned my confu 
 sion, be^an to wondtr; ind toi;etlier with herself", 
 kept whis|)erinf; of me and mockiui; me. W'here- 
 upiui my friend, who knew not what to conceixc. 
 took me by the hands, and drawin<; me forth from 
 amonj; them. re(|uiri(l to know what ailed m«'. Then, 
 havinir first held me <]uiet for a space until my ])er- 
 cej)tions were comi' I'.iek to me. I made answer to my 
 friend: " Of a sun (y I h.i\c now set my feet on that 
 point of lit) . 1)1 yond the which he umst not pass 
 who would n I ui'H. '
 
 Cl)c peto llifc 
 
 Afterwards, Icavirif; Jiiin, I went hack to the room 
 where I had wept before; and again weeping and 
 ashamed, said: " If this lady hut knew of my con- 
 dition. I do not think that she woidd thus moek at 
 me; nay, I am sure tliat she must tieeds feel some 
 pity. " And in my weepi.ig I hethought me to write 
 eertain words, in the whieh, speaking to her, I 
 should signify the (leeasion of my distìgurement, tell- 
 ing her also how I knew that she had noiknowledge 
 thereof: whieh, if it were known. I was certain must 
 move others to ])ity. .Viid th( n. because I hoped 
 that peradventure it might eonir into her hearing, I 
 wrote this sonnet: — 
 
 Even as the others moek, thou moekest me; 
 Not dreaming, noble lady, whence it is 
 That I am taken with strange semblances, 
 Seeing tliy face whieh is so fair to see: 
 For else, compassion would not suffer thee 
 
 To grieve my licart with such harsh scoffs as 
 
 tinse. 
 Lo I Love, when thou art present, sits at ease, 
 And bears his m.-istership so mightily. 
 That all my troubled senses he thrusts out, 
 Son ly tormenting some, and slaying some. 
 Till none but he is left and has free range 
 To gaze on thee. This makes my face te 
 change 
 Into another's; while 1 stind .ill dunili. 
 And hear my senses clamour in thiir rout. 
 
 This sonnet I divide not into parts, Itecause a di- 
 vision is onlji made to open the tneaning of the thinfj 
 divided: and tiiis, as it is stifjicientlif manifest 
 throK<ih the reasons nircn, has no need of division. 
 
 L^5J
 
 Zf\c 4i>fUi Uiff 
 
 'Iriif it is thill, (IiiikI tin- ironls irlirrrhi/ i.s .\li(nrti 
 tlir otuii.sioti (if this sdiiiut, ihihiiiiix inird.s arc to he 
 foiiiiil; iKiiiicli/, ii'ìifìi I snif that Liivi- Kills all my 
 spirits, hut that tlw visual remain in life, onlii out- 
 side of their men instruments. Anil this difjieultif 
 it is impossihle for iiiiif to sot re trho is not in etjual 
 guise liei;e unto Lore; (iinl, to those trho are so, that 
 is manifest which iroiild clear up the duhious words. 
 And therefore it trere not well for me to expound 
 this difficult If, inasmuch as mif speaking would he 
 either fniillcxs or else superfluous. 
 
 A wliilc .■il't«'r this str;inf;c (lisfifjtiniiicnt. I liccaiiir 
 possrsscd witli .1 strotii; «•oiu-cptioii wliicli left inr but 
 very sclddni, .ukI tlnii to nlurii cjiiickly. And it was 
 tiiis: "S( (iiijr tli.it tlioii CDiiicst into siu'li scorn hv 
 tli< (•<iiii|).iiii()nslii|) of this h'ldy, whcrrforr srrkrst 
 thou to liihokl hrr? It" she shoiihl .isk thee this 
 thiiifj, what aiiswiT coiddst thou make unto her? 
 yc.i. t veil thoujfh thou wcrt mastir of .ill thy faciil- 
 tiis, .iiid in no w.ay hindt-red from answi-rinj;. " 
 Unto the which, .inother very humble thought said 
 in reply: " III were in.istiT of all my faculties, and 
 in IK! way hiiidrnd Iroin .■insw«TÌn{j. I would tell 
 her that no sooiur do I iin.i^c to myself her marvel- 
 lous be.-iuty th.iii I iin possessed with .i desire to 
 bt>hold her, the which is of so gre.it strengtii tli.it it 
 kills .111(1 destroy-, in my memory .ill those things 
 which niiglit oppose it; .ind it is therefore that the 
 grt-.it .iiigiiish 1 Ii.iM' endured therein' is yet not 
 enough to restriiii im Irom seeking to beludd her.' 
 And tluii, liec.iuse of these thoughts. I n-solvcd to 
 writi- soinewli.it. wherein, having pU-.uhd mine ex- 
 cuse, I should tell li«r of what I fell in lirr presence. 
 Whereupon 1 wrote this sonnet: —
 
 Zì)c j^ctu ilifc 
 
 TiiK tlioii^lits art' broken in niy nicinory, 
 
 'l'IiDii l(i\i-ly Joy, wlniu'tr I sic tliy tace; 
 
 \\'lirii tliou art near ine. Love fills up the space, 
 Ot'ti-n rcpe/itiii^. "If death irk tine. fly. ' 
 My face shows my heart s colour, vtrily, 
 
 \\'lii(li. faiiititijj. seeks for any leaninj^-place; 
 
 Till, in the drunken terror of disfjrace. 
 The very stones» seem to he shrieking, "Die!" 
 It were a j^rievous sin, if one should not 
 
 Strive tluii to comtort my hewildered mind 
 ( Thou<rh meitly with a simple pitying;) 
 lor the jrreat an<iuish which thy scorn has wrouf^ht 
 
 In the (had si<r|it o' tin- eyes grown nearly hiind, 
 A\'hich look for death as for a blessed thin^r. 
 
 This sonnet is divided into iivo parts. In the 
 first, I tell I ill- ((iiise ivhij I abstain not from 
 coniinii to this ladi/. In the second, I tell trhat 
 heftdls nie throiiiih coining to her; and this part he- 
 gins here, " Jf'hen thou art near." And also this 
 second part diviiles into fire distinct statentents. 
 lor, in the first, I sai/ irhat Lure, connsetlcd hi/ 
 lieason, tells nic irlicn I am near the ladi/. In the 
 second, I set forili the state of mi/ heart l>i/ the 
 e.ramj)le of the face. In the third, I sai/ ìioir all 
 ground of trust fails me. In the fourth, I sai/ that 
 lie sins n'ho shon-s not pit 1/ of nic, irhieii ironici gire 
 me some comfort. In the last, I sai/ irhi/ people 
 should take piti/: nameli/, for the piteous look 
 iviiich comes into mine ei/es; irhicli jiitcoiis looh is 
 deslroi/ed, that is, apjicarcth not unto others, 
 through the jecriiii^ of this ladi/, nho drairs to the 
 like action those irho peradrentiire would sec this 
 piteousness. The second part licgins here, " Mi/ 
 face shuH's; " the third, " Till, in the drunken 
 
 L -^ - J
 
 ZUc Oflii Hifc 
 
 frrror; " llir iDiirlli, " Il mrr ti arirvDus sin; " the 
 jiftii. " liir till- ibridi tiniiiii.sli." 
 
 l'Ili r<. it t(r. this sdimtt In d in nn' di siri li> writr 
 down ill \ I rsi lour ullicr things tmicliiiig mv con- 
 (litiiiM. llir which thiii;;s it sriiiird to ine tli.it I h.id 
 imt \ it in.idi- iii.iiiil ist. Thi- first .iiiioiig tin sc w.is 
 thr grill' th.it possissid iiir \iry ulti ii. riiii(iiil)«T- 
 iiig the str.ingiiiiss which I,o\c wrought in mc ; tlic 
 second W.IS. how I,o\c ni.iny limes .iss-iilcd nic so 
 suddenly .ind with such strength fli.it I li.id no other 
 life reiii.iiliing except .1 thought which sp.ike of niv 
 1 idy; the third w.is. iiow . when I.o\e did battle witli 
 n.»' in this wise. I would rise up .ill colourless, it so I 
 iniglit see my l.idy. concei\ ing that the siglit of her 
 would defend me .ig.iinst th«- assault of Love, .and 
 .iltogelher forgetting that which her presence 
 hrought unto me; and the fourth w.is. how. when 
 I s.iw her, the sight not only defen<l»'d nic not, hut 
 took .iw.iy the little life tli.it rem.iined to me. And 
 I slid lli( sr lour tilings in ,i soiinrl. wliieli is this; — 
 
 At whiles ( yi'.i oftentimes) I muse ov«t 
 
 The <ni.dity of .anguish tli.at is mine 
 
 riiniiigh I,o\e: then pity iii.ikfs my \oice to pine. 
 Saying, " Is .any else thus, any when? 
 Love smitcth me. whose strength is ill to he.ar; 
 
 So that of .ill my life is left no sign 
 
 Exc«'))t one thought ; .and th.at. hccause 'tis thine. 
 Leaves not the hody hut .altideth there. 
 And then if I, whom other .aid forsook, 
 
 \\'ould .lid myself, .and innocant of art 
 
 \\'ould fain have sight of thee as a last hope. 
 No sooner do 1 lift mine eyes to look 
 
 Than the blood seems .as shaken from my heart, 
 And .all my pulses beat at once and stop. 
 
 [28]
 
 €f)c |[>cU) ilifc 
 
 This sonnet /.v (liridcd into jOnr parts, four tliim^s 
 beiii^ therein narrated; and as these are set forth 
 above, I onlij proceed to distiniinisli tiic parts hif 
 their he<!;inniniis. If'herefore I sai/ that the second 
 part begins, " Love sniitelh me;" the third, " And 
 then if I ; " the fourth, " Xo sooner do I lift." 
 
 Ail» T I li.id wrilUii illese three List soimels 
 wlierein I spake unto my l.uly, telliii»; lier almost 
 tlic whole ot" my eoiidition. it seemed to me that I 
 shoidd he silent, ha\ inj;- s.iid ( nouyii eo!ic»rninf^ 
 inyselt". But alheit I spake not to hir ai;aiii. yet it 
 behoved nie afterward to write of aiiotlu-r matter, 
 more nohle than tlie fore<roinf]f. And for that the 
 oeeasion of what I tlnii wrote may be fciund jileas- 
 ant in tin- heariiii;-, I will relati' it ;is brietìy as 
 i may. 
 
 'rhrou<>h the sore ehan<ie in mine aspeet, the 
 seeret of my heart was now understood of many. 
 \\ hieli thiiij; heinu' thus, there came a dav when 
 certain ladies to whom it was well known (they 
 havintif been with me at divers times in my troubh) 
 M'ere met to<fether for the pleasur»- of p-ntle com- 
 pany. And as 1 was ^oiii^ that way by ehanee, 
 (but I think rather by the will of fortune.) I heard 
 one of them call unto me. ;ind she that called was 
 a l;lfdy of very sweet speech. And when I hid come 
 close up with them, and perceived that tin y had not 
 ainon<r them mine excellent lady, I w;is rea.ssured ; 
 and saluted them, asking; of their pleasure. The 
 ladies were many; divers of whom were laughing 
 one to another, while divers gazed at me as though 
 I should speak anon. Hut when I still spake not, 
 one of them, who before had been talking with an- 
 other, addressed me l)v my name, saying, " To what
 
 ZUc pelli IMff 
 
 i-nd loM si tlidii tliis l.idy, .scciiii^ tli.il llioii I'.iii.st not 
 support licr prcstncc.' Now tell us this tiling, that 
 \v( iii.iy know it: for ctrtiiiily the trid of such a 
 lt)\r iniisl li worthy nl' kiiowh-d^rc." And when shr 
 had spoken Ihcst words, not she only. I)iit all tluv 
 that wtrr with lur. l)tj;an to o1)s«t\c inc. waiting 
 tor my reply. Whereupon I said thus unto thrin: — 
 "Ladies, till end and aim ol m\ l,o\f was hut the 
 salutation of ihit lady of u Imni I eoMeei\f that ve 
 are speakinir; wherein aloni I foMiid that heatitnch- 
 whic'li is the goal of desire. .\nd now that it h.ath 
 pleased her to deny me this. I,o\e. my Master, of 
 his great goodness, h.ilh pl.iced all my heatitude 
 there where my hope will not fail me." 'I'hen those 
 ladies began to talk closely together; and as I have 
 seen snow fall among the rain, so was their talk 
 mingled with sighs. Jiut after a little, that lady 
 who had heen the first to address me. addressed me 
 again in these words: " W'v prsix thee that thou wilt 
 tell us wherein ahidetli this thy heatitude." .\nd 
 answering. I said hut thus murli: " In those words 
 that do j)raise my lady." Id the which she re- 
 joined: " If thy speech were true, those words that 
 thou did t write concerning thy condition would 
 have been written with another intent." 
 
 Tlien I, being almost put to shame because of 
 her answer, went out from among thiin; and as 
 I walked, I said within myself: " Seeing that there 
 is so nuich beatituth- in those words which do jiraisc 
 my lady, wherefore hath my speech of her been 
 different.'" And then I rcsohed that thencefor- 
 ward I \M>'.iId elioosi- for the theme of my writings 
 onl\ till praise of this most gracious being. But 
 whiM I had thought exceedingly, it .seemed to nic 
 that I liad taken to myself a theme which was much 
 
 L -it) J
 
 ti)t 0c\M il iff 
 
 too lofty, so tli.it I (l.in (1 not hc^iii ; and I remained 
 during several days in tlic desire ot spiaking, and 
 the f'e.-ir ot" beginning. After which it happened, 
 as I passed one day along a jiath which lay beside 
 a stream of very clear water, th.it there came u))on 
 me a great desire to say somewhat in rhyme: but 
 when I began thinking how I should say it, me- 
 t bought that to speak of her were unseemly unless 
 I spoke to other ladies in the second ))erson ; which 
 is to say, not to (iiiy other ladies, but only to such 
 as are so called beeausi- they are gentle, let alone 
 for mere womanhood. \\'iiereupon I declare that 
 my tongue sjiake as though by its own impulse, and 
 said, " Ladies that h.ive intelligence in love." These 
 words I laid up in my mind with great gladness, 
 conceiving to take them as my commencement. 
 Wherefore, having returned to the city I sjiake of, 
 and considered thereof during etrtain days, I began 
 a poem with this beginning, eonstrueted in the 
 mode which will be seen below in its division. The 
 poem begins here :— 
 
 Laoiks that have intelligence in love, 
 
 Of n.ine own lady 1 would s|)eak with you; 
 Not tiiat I liope to count her j)raises through, 
 Hut telling what I may, to ease my mind. 
 An(1 I declare that when I speak thereof. 
 Love sheds such perfect sweetiuss over me 
 That if uiy courage failed not. certainly 
 To him my listi'ners must be all resign'd 
 Wherefore I will not speak in such large kind 
 That mine own six-ech should foil me. whieh were 
 
 base ; 
 But only will discourse of her high grace 
 
 In these poor words, the best that 1 can lind, 
 
 Lai J
 
 >riìc pcU) ìiifc 
 
 ^^'illl you .iloiic, dear (liiin ^ .iikI dinut/ils : 
 "l'utTc ili ti) s|)iik lliiTtol willi .HIV risi'. 
 
 Ali Alluci, of iiis lìltssrd knowli'd^f, s.iitli 
 
 To (iod: "Lord, in tlic world that Tliou hast 
 
 III idc, 
 A iiiir.iflf in action is displax "d. 
 
 Hy reason ot a soul whose splindmirs lare 
 K\tii liitlier: and since Heaven re(|uiretli 
 
 Nought s.ivinjr her, for lur it prayeth 'l'hce, 
 Thy Saints crvini; aloud continu.illy. ' 
 
 Wt l'ity stili defends our earthly share 
 In that sweet soul; ( lod aiiswi riiit; thus the 
 ])rayer : 
 " Mv well-beloved, sufi'» r liial in peace 
 ^ tuir hope remain, while so My pleasure is, 
 
 Tlure where oiu' dwells who dreads the loss of 
 h.r: 
 And will) ill IIill unto the doomed shall say, 
 ' I lia\e looked on that for which (lod's elwisen 
 |)ray." 
 
 My lady is desired in the lii^rli Ileavin: 
 iVIurtfurc, it now hehoveth me to tell. 
 Savin"': Let anv maid that would he well 
 
 * 
 
 I'steemed keep with her: for as she goes by, 
 Into foul hearts a deathly chill is driven 
 
 Hy l,o\f, that m.akes ill thoujjcht to perish there: 
 While any who endures to «raze on her 
 
 Must either be ennobled, or else die. 
 
 When one deserx inij to be r.iised so hij^h 
 Is found, 'tis then her power att.iins its proof. 
 M.akinir his heart slron-r for his soul's behoof 
 
 With the lull strength of meek humility. 
 Also this virtue owns she, by (iod's will: 
 \\\m sj)e.iks with her e.in niver come to ill. 
 
 L -^^ J
 
 €t\c j^cUj ilifc 
 
 Love s.iitli coiict Tiiiiiir liir: " How cli.iiicttli it 
 
 Tli.'it Hrsli. wliic'li is of dust, should hf thus 
 
 j)urf .' 
 Then, gaziiij^ always, lie makes oatli: " Forsure, 
 This is a creature of God till now unknown." 
 Slie hath that jialcness of the pearl that's fit 
 In a fair woman, so much and not more; 
 She is as hi^h as Nature's skill ean soar; 
 Heauty is tried hy her eomparison. 
 \\'hatev<r her sweet eyes are turned u])on. 
 Spirits of love do issue thence in Hame, 
 NN'hicii through their eyes who then may look on 
 them 
 Pi<'rce to the heart's deej) chamber every one. 
 And in her smile Love's image you may see; 
 Whence none can ga/e u])oti her steadfastly. 
 
 Dear .Song, I know thou wilt hold gentle s])eech 
 \\"i\.\i many ladies, when 1 send thee forth: 
 \\'l)eret"ore (heing mindful that thou hadst thy 
 hirth 
 rrom Love, and art a modist, simple child), 
 Whomso thou mectest, say thou this to each: 
 " Give me good speed ! To lit r I wend along 
 In whose much strength my we.ikness is made 
 
 strong. " 
 * And if, i' tile end, thou wouldst not he beguiled 
 Of all thy labour, se.k not the defiled 
 \nd common sort; but rather choose to be 
 Where man and woman dwell in courtesy. 
 
 .So to the road thou shalt be r» coiiciled. 
 And find the lady, and with tin 1 idy. l.o\c. 
 Commend thou me to each, as doth behovf. 
 
 'J'liis poem, that it iiiai/ /;<• hrtlcr inuicr stood, I 
 will divide more suhtli/ than the others preecding; 
 
 L '33 ]
 
 ZÌK j"?cUi Uiff 
 
 (imi tlirit'l Dif J Hill iiuihr ttim- jtnil.s tif il. J'tit 
 first pari ìs a proriii tu tlw ivords fitllairiiiii. 'J'Iic 
 sfcoiitl ix tìic nidttrr treated of. Tlw third is, as 
 it H't-rr, a haiidiiiaid in the precedili fj words. The 
 second hciiins here. " .In .lu<rel;" the third here, 
 Ditir Soiiic, i hiioir." The first part is divided 
 into four. In the first, I saij to ivliom I mean to 
 spealt of nil/ lad if, and irherefore I trill so speak. 
 In the second, I saif what she appears to mi/self 
 to he irheii I reflect upon her cicellenee, and what 
 I iroiild iitlcr if I lost not conrane. In the third, 
 I sail irlidt it is I purpose to speak so as not to he 
 impeded hi/ faintheartedness. In the fourth, re- 
 peating to whom I purpose speal,iii<r, I tell the 
 reason whi/ I speah- to them. 'The second hc^ins 
 here, " .Ind I declare;" the third here, " ll'here^ 
 fore I will not speah; " the fourth here, " Jf'ith 
 ifou alone." Then, tehen I saif " .In .Innel," I he- 
 irin treat in ir of this ladi/: and this part is divided 
 into two. In the first, I tell nlnil is understood of 
 her in heaven. In the second, I tell what is under- 
 stood of her on carili: here. " .M if ladif is desired." 
 This second part is divided into two; for, in the 
 first, I speak- of her as re>rards the nohleness of her 
 soul, relating some of her virtues proceedin>i from 
 her soul ; in the second, I speak of her as regards 
 the nohleness of her hodif, narratinir some of her 
 heauties: here, " Lai'c stiilli concerninir her." 'This 
 second pari is divided into tiro, for, in the first, I 
 speak of certain heauties which helong to the ivlnde 
 person; in the second, I speak of certain heauties 
 which hclong to a distinct part of the jierson : here, 
 " IVhatever her sweet ei/es." 'This second part is 
 divided into two; for, in the one, I speak of the 
 eyes, which are the he<rinning of love; in the sec- 
 
 I in 1
 
 Z\)c pfU) ilifc 
 
 Olid, I .sj)f<ik of till- nioutli, iriiirli is tlif end of love. 
 And that cieri/ licions thought nidif be discarded 
 here from, let the reader reineiiiher that it is ahove 
 written that the greeting of tliis ladi/, irhich was 
 an act of her mouth, was the goal of mij desires, 
 while I could receive it. Then, when I sai/, " Dear 
 Song, I know," I add a stanza as it were handmaid 
 to the otiiers, iriierein I sai/ what I desire from this 
 mi/ poem. And because this last part is easy to 
 understand, I trouble not mi/self tritìi more di- 
 visions. I sai/, indeed, tiiat the further to open the 
 meaning of this poem, more minute divisions ought 
 to be used; but nevertheless he who is not of wit 
 enough to understand it by these ivhich iiave been 
 al read 1/ made is welcome to leave it alone; for 
 certes, I fear I have communicated its sense to too 
 mani/ bi/ these present divisions, if it so happened 
 that muiiji should hear it. 
 
 When this son»'- was ,i little gone abroad, a certain 
 one of my friends, hearing the same, was pleased to 
 question me. that 1 should tell him what thing lose 
 is; it may he. eoneiav ing from the words tiius heard 
 a hope of me hivoiid my desert. \\ liertfore I. 
 thinking that after sueh discourse it were well to 
 saj^ somewhat of the nature of Love, and also in 
 accordance with my friend's desire, |)roposed to 
 myself to write certain words in the which 1 should 
 treat of this .argument. And the soiniel th.it I then 
 made is this: — 
 
 LovK and the genti»- heart are on»- s.inie thing, 
 Kven as the wise man in his ditty s.iith: 
 K.ieh, of itstll. would lie sueh lit e in de.ith 
 
 As rutionul soul bereft of re.ismiing. 
 
 L •i-^> J
 
 ZUc pfUi Ulte 
 
 "lis Nature Miakis llicin wIhm she l<i\is: a kiii^ 
 I.()\c is, wliosr |) ilact will n lie so jouriictll 
 Is (all((l tilt III art; tin r< draws lie <iui«t Itrcatli 
 At lirst. witli l)rii t' or l<tiii;tT slmiilMTiiif;. 
 I'luii Ixaiity stali ill \irtiioiis woinaiikiiid 
 
 \\ ill make the (V< s desire, and tliroii<r|i tlie heart 
 .'^eiid the desiring of the eyes again; 
 \\ liert ol ten it ahidis so lonj; eiishrin'd 
 
 That l.ove at len/rth out of" his sleep will start. 
 And women feel the same for worthy men. 
 
 Titi.s .sonnet i.s (iividcd into two parts. In tite Jir.st, 
 I .'<pf(ik of him according to his power. In the sec- 
 ond, I speak of him according as his potver trans- 
 lates itself into act. The second part l>egins here, 
 " Then beanti/ seen." 'The first is divided into two. 
 Ill the first, I sai/ in irJiat snl>ject this power e.rists. 
 In the second, I sai/ hoir this snhject and this power 
 are produced toi^cthcr, and iiow the one regards the 
 other, (IS form docs matter. 'The siuoiid liegins 
 here, " 'Tis \atnrc." Afterwards when I sai/, 
 " 'Then beanti/ seen in rirlnoiis womankind," I sai/ 
 how this power translates itself into act; and, first, 
 flow it so translates itself in a man, then how it so 
 translates itself in a iroman: here, " And ivomen 
 feel." 
 
 Having treated of love in the foregoing, it ap- 
 peared to me that I should also say something in 
 praise of my lady, wherein it might he set forth 
 how love manifested itself when produced by Ikt; 
 and how not only she eoidd awaken it where it sli-pt. 
 hut where it was not she could marvellously ert-ate 
 it. To the which t ud I wrote another sonnet: and 
 it is this : — 
 
 [36]
 
 Cftc pcU) ilifc 
 
 Mv lady cirrics lovt- witliin lur tve.s; 
 
 All that she looks on is made plcasanter ; 
 
 L'pon her ]);ith iiicn turn to jjaze at her; 
 He whom she greettth feels his heart to rise, 
 And (lroo])s his trouhlcd visage, full of siglis, 
 
 And of his evil heart is then aware: 
 
 Hate loves, and j)ride beeomes a worshi))])tr. 
 () women, help to praise her in somewise. 
 Humbleness, and the hope that hoj)eth well, 
 
 IJy speech of hers into the mind are brought, 
 And who beholds is blessed oftenwhiles. 
 'J'hi- look she hath when she a little smiles 
 
 Cannot be said, nor holden in the thought; 
 'Tis sueh a new and gracious miracle. 
 
 7'iiis sonnet lias three sections. In tiic first , I sai/ 
 ìiow this ladii brings this ponwr into action hif tiiose 
 most noble features, her eifes; and, in tiie third, I 
 sat/ this same as to that most noble feature, her 
 moutJi. And between these two sections is a little 
 section, which ashs, as it were, help for the previous 
 Hvction, and the subsequent ; and it begins here, " 
 women, help." The third begins here, '" Humble- 
 ness." The first is divided into three; for, in the 
 first, I saij hair she with power makes noble that 
 which she looks upon; and this is as much as to sai/ 
 that she brings Love, in power, thither where he is 
 not. In the second, I sai/ how she brings Love, in 
 act, into the iiearts of all those whom she sees. In 
 the third, I tell what she afterwards, with virtue, 
 operates upon their hearts. The second begins, 
 Upon her path ; " the third, " lie n-hom she greet- 
 eth." Then, when I sai/, " () women, help," I inti- 
 mate to whom it is mi/ intention to speak, calling on 
 women to help me to honour her. 'Then, when I sai/
 
 «riir Orili Ulte 
 
 If Kiiihlrnr.ss," I sui/ tlutt suini- ii liu h is xaid in tlie 
 first pttit, rciiardiiiii tira nets of lirr mouth, otif 
 trlirrrof is lirr ìnost sirrrt spvvrh, aiid tin- iitlirr her 
 iniirvrlloiis smili-. Olili/, t saif not iif this last hair 
 it DjH-nitis upon thf hearts of others, heeause 
 iiieiiiurif tauitot retain this smile, nor its operation. 
 
 Not many d.-iys .irtcr this (it luinj^ the will of tlir 
 most llij^li (iod. wild .liso troni Ilinisclf put not 
 .iw.iy (Ic.itli). tlic I'.itluT ot" wondirfiil Hi-ilricr. ^o- 
 in<r iMit of this life, p.isscd crrtiinly into jih)ry. 
 'I'hcnliy it h.ippt in(l. .is «if very sooth it niijrht not 
 lie oth«r\visc. th.il this l.idy w.is ni.idi- full of thf 
 hitt»Tnrss of irri< 1': s( tin;; th.it siuh .i |>;irtin^ is 
 wry i;rir\()iis unto thus»- friiiids who .irr left, .ind 
 th.it no uthi r frii ii(|shi|i is like to th.il Ixtwccn .-i 
 /.rood p.irrnt .iiid .1 <x,iifn\ child; .ind I nrthcrniort" f«)n- 
 sidirin^ th.it tliis hidy w.is p)od in thf snpninc df- 
 f^rtr, and her f.ithtr (.is hy ni.iny it h.ith hicn trnlv 
 ■•iv«Tr«'d ) of cxfcfdinjf ^oochitss. And Ixcitis»- it is 
 th«' usa<r<- of th.it fity th.it nun nu it with mcti in 
 .sufh a f^riff, .and women witli wonun, ctrtain hidit-s 
 of \\vr comp.anionship gathered themst-lvrs unto 
 Hi-.atricc. whtrr she kept .doni- in her weepiiifj: and 
 .IS thiv p.issrd in .and out. I eoidd he.ir them speak 
 eoneirnini; her. how slie wept. .\t h-nj^th two of 
 tliein went hy me, who s.aid : " Cert.iinly sh<- jfriev«-th 
 in such sort th.at one mi;.^ht die for pity. hehoKiing 
 Ikt. I'hcn. feelinjr the tc.irs ii|)on my f.ace, I put 
 up my h.inds to hide them: .and h.ad it not been tliat 
 I hopid to he.ir more concerning her (seeing th.at 
 where I s.it. her friends p.issed contiiuially in .anil 
 out I. I shouhl .issiirtiily h.ive gone therua- to he 
 .ihine. when I fell the tears come, liul .as I still sat 
 in that place, cerl.iin l.adiivs .ag.iin p.assed near ilio. 
 
 [3«J
 
 wJio w«Tr saying aiiiDn^ tli«iiis<l\ «s : " \\ liicli of us 
 sli.ill Ih- joyful any uiorc, who liavc lisltind to tliis 
 ladv in iicr piteous sorrow?' And thcrc w«tc 
 others who said .is th<y w<ril hy me: " He tliat sit- 
 tilh lierr could not weep more il lie had liclield In r 
 as we ha\c beheld her;" and a;j;ain : " lie is so 
 altered that hv scenici li noi as liiniseH. " And still 
 as tln' ladies passed to and fro. I coidd hear llii^in 
 speak after this fashion of her and of me. 
 
 A\'her<fore afterwards, having considered and 
 p«rceivin<j that there was herein matter for poesy, 
 1 resolved that I would write certain rhymes in the 
 which should he contained all that those ladies had 
 said. And Ik caiisc I would willingly h.a\c spoken to 
 them if it had not lieen for discreetness. 1 made in 
 my rhymes as though I had spok( ii and they 
 had answered me. And thereof I wrote two son- 
 nets; in the first of which I addressed them as I 
 would fain ha\f done; and in tin- second related 
 their answer. usin<.r tin- speech that I had heard 
 from them, as thouj^h it had heen sjxikeii unto tuy- 
 self. And the sonnets arc these: — - 
 
 I. 
 
 Vol that thus we.ir a modest counten.iiu'e 
 
 With lids weigh'd down liy the heart's heaviness, 
 WluTU'c come yon, that amon<^ you every face 
 
 App«-ars the same, for its p.ih trouhled f;lance? 
 
 Have you heheld my lady s i.iee. perch.ance, 
 
 liow'd with the u;rief that I,o\<- makes fnll of 
 
 grace .' 
 Say now, " This tinnii is thus; " ,is my he.irt s.ays, 
 
 Marking your grax t .ind sorrowful advance. 
 
 I ;Ji) 1
 
 Clic pcU) Mifc 
 
 AikÌ if ÌTi(lr< (1 \(>ii iDiin rmiii \s Ihti- sIh' sij;lis 
 Am(I mourns, may il pliasc voti ( for his heart's 
 nli.f) 
 'I'd till liow it tins with lur unto liini 
 \\ ho knows that you ha\r wrpl, si-ciii^ your •■yt-s. 
 And is so ^rit'\<(l with looUinj; on your j^rirl 
 
 That his htaii tr<nih!<s and his si^ht ^rows 
 dim 
 
 77//.V sound is (liritlcd into ino ixiiTs. In tiic first, 
 I rail anil ash- these ladies irlietlier tlieif eome from 
 Iter, telling theni that I think thei/ do, heeansr thet/ 
 retnrn the nohler. In the seeoud, I praif them to tell 
 vie of her; and the second hei^ins liere, " And if 
 indeed." 
 
 II. 
 
 Cwsi- thou iii(hi(l he hi- that still would sini; 
 ( )!' (Uir dear lady unto nonr lui I us : 
 lor lhou;rh tiiy voice eoufirms that it is thus, 
 'I'hy \ isa^e miglit anotiur witness l)riii;i. 
 And wheretOre is thy grief so sore a thing 
 Tliat grieving thou mak'st others dolorous.^ 
 Hast thou too seen her weej). that thou from us 
 Canst not conceal thine inward sorrowing? 
 N;iy, leave our woe to us: let us alone: 
 
 "I'were sin if one should strive to soothe our woe, 
 1 or in her weeping we have heard lier speak: 
 Also her look's so full of her heart's moan 
 
 Til it they who should behold her, looking so, 
 .Must fall aswooii. feeling all life grow weak. 
 
 This sonnet has four parts, a.s the ladies in nhose 
 person I reply had four forms of answer. And, be- 
 
 I -id I
 
 €l)c |)cUj 3tifc 
 
 cause these ore sufficienti i/ slionii (ihore, I stai/ not 
 to explain tiie purport of tlie parts, and therefore 
 I onlif discriminate them. The second hei^ius here, 
 " And trherefore is Ihi/ grief; " the third here, 
 " Xaif, leave our woe ; " the fourth, " Also her 
 look." 
 
 A iVw (lays after this, my body l)rcaiiic atllictid 
 witii a pain till infirmity, wlurtby I suH'trtd l)itt( r 
 anguish for many days, which at last l)r(ni«:;ht nie 
 unto such weakness that 1 could no longer move. 
 And I remember that on tlic ninth day, being over- 
 come with intolerable pain, a thought came into my 
 mind concerning my lady: but when it had a little 
 nourished this tliought, my mind returned to its 
 brooding over mine enfCebled body. And then ])er- 
 eei\ ing how frail a thing life is, even though health 
 keep with it, the matter seemed to me so |)itiful that 
 I could not choose but weep; and wee])ing I said 
 within myself: " Certainly it nuist some time come 
 to pass that the very gentle Beatrice will die." 
 Then, feeling bewildered, I closed mine t yt s ; and 
 ivy brain began to be in travail as the brain of one 
 frantic, and to have such imaginations as here 
 f Dllow. 
 
 And at the first, it seeincd to iiii- that 1 s;iw certain 
 faces of women with tin ir hair loosened, which 
 called out to uu-, " Thou shall surely die;" after 
 the which, other terrible and unknown apjjearances 
 said unto me. " Thou art dead." At length, as my 
 phantasy held on in its wanderings, I came to be 
 1 knew not where, and to behold a throng of dis- 
 hevelled ladies woiuierfully sad. who kept going 
 hither and thither weeping. 'I'heii the sun went 
 out, so that the stars -.l,o\vcd themselves, and they 
 
 [41 I
 
 ZUc OcUj ilifc 
 
 were ol siicli a ((ilmir thai I knew tlhv must be 
 weeping; aiul it scniud to iiir tliat tlif birds li'll 
 (lead out of the sky, and tliat tlicrr were fjrcat 
 cartlKjuakcs. With tliat. while I woiuhnd in niv 
 trance, and \v.;s fiUed with a j^rievons fear, I eon- 
 <■( i\r(l thai a (•( riaiii Iriiiid eanie unto me and said: 
 Hast llmu nut hi ard .' .She that was thine excel- 
 lent lady iiath hren taken out of life."' 'i'licn I 
 hcijan to weep Mry piteonsly; and not only in mine 
 imairination. hut with mine eyes, which were wet 
 with tears. And I seemed to look towards Heaven, 
 and to behold a nndtitude of an^rels who were rc- 
 turnin<i^ upwards. ha\ing bifore them an exceed- 
 ingly white cloud: and these aiifjcls were singing 
 together gloriously, and the words of their song 
 were these: " O.siiinui in criflsì.s ; " aiul there was 
 no more that I heard. lln n my he.irt that was so 
 full of love said unto me: " It is true that our lady 
 lieth dead;" and it seemed to nie that I went to 
 look upon the body win-rein that blessed and most 
 noble s))irit had had its abiding-place. And so 
 strong was this idle imagining, that it made me to 
 behold my lady in death: whose head certain ladies 
 seemed to he eoxering with a white veil; and who 
 was so huml)le of her aspect that it was as though 
 .she had said, " 1 have attained to look on the begin- 
 ning of peace." And therewithal I came unto such 
 humility by the sight of her. that 1 cried out n])on 
 Death, saying: ' .\ow comi- unto me, and he not 
 bitter against nu- any longer: surely, there where 
 thou hast been, thou hist learned gentleness. 
 Wherefore come now unto me who do gre.itly desire 
 thee : seest thou not Ih it 1 wear thy <(ilour al- 
 ready.^ " And when I had seen all those olfices per- 
 formed that arc fitting to be done unto the dead, 
 
 [4^ 1
 
 €f)c iDctD atife 
 
 it seemed to me that 1 went haek unto mine own 
 eli.imber, and looked up towards Heaven. And so 
 strong was my pliantasy, tli it 1 wept ajjain in very 
 truth, and s.iid willi my true xoiee: " () excellent 
 soul ' how hlessed is he that now looketh upon 
 Ih.v! •■ 
 
 And as I said these words, with a ))ainl'ul aniruish 
 of sobbing and another j)rayer unto Dealh. a young 
 and gentle lady, who had been st.audiiig besidt- me 
 where 1 lay. eoneeiving that 1 wept and cried out 
 b.ecause of" the jiaiii of mine infirmity, was taken 
 with trembling and began to shed tears. Whereby 
 other ladies, who were about the room, becoming 
 aware of my discomfort by reason of the moan 
 that she made, (who indeed was of my very near 
 kindred,) led her away from where I was, and then 
 set themselves to awaken me, thinking that I 
 dreamed, and saying: " Sleej) no longer, and be not 
 dis(juieted.'" 
 
 Then, by their words, this strong imagination was 
 brought suddenly to an end, at the moment that I 
 was about to say, " O JJeatrice ! peace be with thee." 
 And already I had said, " O Beatrice! " when being 
 aroused, I ojiened mine eyes, and knew that it had 
 been a decej)tion. liut albeit I had indeed uttered 
 her name, yet my voice was so broken with sobs, that 
 it was not understood by these ladies; so that in 
 spite of the sore shame that I felt. 1 ttirned towards 
 them by I^ove's counselling. And when thi y be- 
 held me, they began to say, " He seemeth as one 
 dead," and to whisjier among themselves, " Let us 
 strive if we may not comfort liim." \\'hereu])on 
 they spake to me many soothing words, and (pies- 
 tioned me moreover touching tlie cause of my fear. 
 Then I, being somewhat reassured, and having per- 
 
 [43]
 
 ceivcd that it was a mere pliaiilasy, said unto them, 
 This thiiifi: it was that made me al'card; '" and toh! 
 thciii of all that I had sten, troni the htj^innin^ 
 c\iii unto tlu' end, l)ut without oncf sptakin^ the 
 iianit' of my lady. Also, after I iiad rccoviTcd from 
 my sickness, I hethouglit me to write these things 
 in rhyme; deeming it a lovely thing to be known. 
 \A'hereof I wrote this poem: — 
 
 A VERY pitiful lady. \ery young, 
 
 Exceeding rich in hum.in symp.athies. 
 
 Stood hy, what time I clamour'd upon Death; 
 And at the wild words wandering on my tongue 
 And at the piteous look within mine eyes 
 
 She was affrighted, that sohs choked her 
 
 breath. 
 So by her weeping wliere I Iny beneath, 
 Some other gentle Ladies eame to know 
 My state, and made her go : 
 
 Afterward, bending themselves over me, 
 One said, " Awaken thee! " 
 
 And one, " \\'hat thing thy sleep discjuieteth ? " 
 With that, my soul woke up from its eclipse. 
 The while my ladys name rose to my lips: 
 
 But utter'd in a voice so sob-broken, 
 So feeble with the agony of tears. 
 
 That I alone might hear it in my he.irt; 
 And though that look was on my visage then 
 \\'hich he who is ashamed so ])lainly wears. 
 Love made thai I through shame held not 
 
 apart, 
 Hut gazed upon them. And my hue was such 
 That they look'd at eaeli other and thought of death ; 
 Saying under their breath 
 
 [44 1
 
 €i)c Inetti itifc 
 
 Most tender!}', " O let us comfort liini : " 
 
 Then unto me: " What dream 
 
 Was thine, that it hath shaken thee so nmch? " 
 And when I was a little comforted, 
 " This, ladies, was the dream I dreamt," I said. 
 
 " I was a-thinking how life fails with us 
 Suddenly after such a little while; 
 
 When Love sobb'd in my heart, which is his 
 home. 
 Whereby my spirit wax'd so dolorous 
 That in myself I said, witli sick recoil: 
 
 ' Yea, to my lady too this Death must come.' 
 And therewithal such a bewilderment 
 Possess'd me, that I shut mine eyes for peace; 
 And in my brain did cease 
 
 Order of thought, and every healthful thing. 
 Afterwards, wandering 
 
 Amid a swarm of doubts that came and went, 
 Some certain women's faces hurried by, 
 And shriek'd to me, ' Thou too shalt die, shalt die! ' 
 
 " Then saw I many broken hinted sights 
 In the uncertain st.ite I stepp'd into. 
 
 Meseem'd to be I know not in what place, 
 Where ladies through the street, like mournful 
 lights, 
 Ran with loose hair, and eyes that frighten'd you 
 By their own terror, and a pale amaze: 
 TÌie whih-, little by little, as I thought. 
 The sun ceased, and the stars began to gather, 
 And each wept at the other; 
 
 And birds dropp'd in mid-flight out of the sky; 
 And earth shook suddeidy ; 
 
 And I was 'ware of one, hoarse and tired out, 
 
 [45]
 
 ZUc pelli Uifc 
 
 W'lio .-isk'd ot ine: ' H.ist llmii noi lic.ird it said? . . . 
 Tliy l.idy. slif that was so fair, is (ifad.' 
 
 I'lii II lil'tiiii; lip niini' eyes, as llit- tears oainc, 
 I s.iw tiu- Aii;:;tls, likf a rain ot" iiiaima. 
 In a K)ii^ fli^lit Hying back Hi'a\ tnward ; 
 Ha\ in<r a littlr idoud in front ot" tln'in, 
 
 Aitt-r tlif which thiy went ."ind said, ' Ilosanna; ' 
 And if thiv had said niort', you sliould have 
 
 heard. 
 Then Love said. ' Now sh.ill all tliiii<rs he made 
 cle>*r : 
 COnie and hi-liold our lady where she lies.' 
 These 'wilderin<r |)hantasies 
 
 Then carried me to see my lady d( ail. 
 Even as I tlicre was led. 
 
 Her ladies with a veil were eo\triii<f her; 
 And with her was such very humbleness 
 That she appeared to say, ' 1 am at peace.' 
 
 " And I became so humble in my grief, 
 Seeing in her such deep humility. 
 
 That I said: ' Death, 1 hold thee passing good 
 Henceforth, and a most gentle sweet relief. 
 
 Since my dear love has chosen to dwell with thee: 
 Pity, not hate, is thine, well understood. 
 Lo ! I do so desiri- to see thy face 
 That I am like as one who nears the tomb; 
 My soul entreats thee, Come.' 
 
 Then I departed, having made my moan; 
 And when 1 was alone 
 
 I said, and cast my eyes to the High Place: 
 ' Blessed is he, fair soul, wlio meets thy glance ! ' 
 
 Just then you woke uic, of your com- 
 
 plaisaiince." 
 
 [ •« 1
 
 Zi]c pclu ilifc 
 
 This poem has tiro parts. In the first, speaking 
 to a person undefined, I tell lion' I nvis aroused from 
 a vain phantasi/ hi/ certain ladies, and flow I prom- 
 ised them to tell what it was. In the second I saij 
 how I told them. The second part heains here, " I 
 was a-thinliing." The first part divides into two. 
 In the first, I tell that which certain ladies, and 
 which one singly, did and said because of my phan- 
 tasy, before I had returned into my rigid senses. 
 In the secoiid, I tell wiiat these ladies said to me 
 after I had left off tliis wandering: and it begins 
 here, " But uttered in a voice." Then, when I say, 
 " I was a-thin/iing," I say how I told tliem this my 
 imagination ; and concerning tiiis I have two jxtrts. 
 In the first, I tell, in order, tiiis imagination. In 
 the second, saying at what time they called me, I 
 covertly thank them: and tliis part begins herC; 
 "Just then you tvoliC »ic." 
 
 AftiT tiiis ciiipty iiii,iu,iiiiii<;-. it Impptncd on a 
 day, as 1 sat tliou<j;liti"ul, that 1 was taken with such 
 a stronjr trt inhlin<i; at the licart, that it could not 
 have been otherwise in the presence of my lady. 
 Whereupon I jiereeived that there was an apjjear- 
 ance of Love beside me, and I seemed to see him 
 comin<i^ from my lady ; and he said, not aloud but 
 within my heart: " Now take heed that thou bless 
 the day when I entered into thee; for it is fittinji; 
 that tliou shouldst do so." And with that my heart 
 was so full of gladness, that I could hardly believe 
 it to be of very truth mine own heart and not 
 another. 
 
 A short while after thesi- words which my heart 
 spoke to me with the tongue of Love, I saw coming 
 towards me a certain lady who was very famous for 
 
 [47]
 
 licr br.'iuty. and iii whom that trilliti whom T Iiavc 
 already caUcd tlic first amoii"; my Iritiids had long 
 brt'ii riiamourcd. This lady s rij^hl name was Joan; 
 l)ut hecausr of" her comeliness (or at hast it w:'.s so 
 imajrincd) she was eaUed of many Priiiiavera 
 (Sj)rinf;). and went by tli; t name among them. 
 Then looking again. I perceived that the most noble 
 Beatrice followed after her. And when botli these 
 ladies had jiasscd by me, it seemed to me that Love 
 spake again in my Iieart. saying: " She that came 
 first was called Spring, only because of that which 
 was to h.ippen on this day. And it was I myself 
 who caused that name to be given her; seeing that 
 as the Spring cometh first in the year, so should she 
 come first on this day. when Beatrice was to show 
 lierself after the vision of her servant. And even 
 if thou go about to consider her right nam<-, it is 
 also as one should say, ' She shall come first; ' in- 
 asmuch as her name, Joan, is taken from that John 
 who went before the True Light, saying: ' Kiio ro.r 
 cldiiiantis in deserto: Parafe viavì Domìni.' And 
 also it seemed to me that he added other words, to 
 wit: "He wlio should iiuiuir.' delicately touching 
 this matter, could not but call Beatrice by mine 
 own name, which is to say. Love; beholding her so 
 like unto me." 
 
 Then L having thought of this, imagined to 
 write it with rhymes and send it unto my chief 
 friend; but setting aside certain words which 
 seemed proper to be set aside, because I believed 
 that his heart still regarded the beauty of her that 
 was called Spring. And I wrote this sonnet: — 
 
 I i-Ki/r a s])irit of love begin to stir 
 
 Within p.iy heart, long time unfelt till then;
 
 Zì)c peto %ìk 
 
 And saw Love coiniiif; towards nu-, fair and fain, 
 (That I scarce knew liiin for his joyful cheer,) 
 Saying, " Be now indeed my worshipper! " 
 
 And in liis s))eech he laugli'd and laugh'd again. 
 Then, whiU' it was his |)leasure to remain, 
 I chanced to look the way he had drawn near. 
 And saw the Ladies Joan and IJeatriee 
 Approach me, this the other following. 
 One and a second marvel instantly. 
 And even as now my memory sj)eaketh this, 
 
 Love sj)ake it then: "The first is christen'd 
 Spring; 
 The second Love, she is so like to me." 
 
 77//.y sonnet Juts inanij parts: ivhereof the first 
 tells Jiotr I felt awaheiied iritltin niif lieart the aeeus- 
 tomed tremor, and lioie it seemed tJiat Love ap- 
 peared to me joyful from af<.-r. The seeond sai/s 
 hoii' it appeared to me that Love spake within my 
 heart, and what was his aspeet. The third tells hniv, 
 after he had in sueh wise been ivith me a space, I 
 saw and lieard eertain tilings. The second part 
 begins here, " Saying, ' lie noiv; ' " the third here. 
 Then, while it ivas ]iis pleasure." The third part 
 divides into two. In the first, I say wJiat I saiv. 
 In the second, I say irliat I heard; and it begins 
 here, " Love spake it then." 
 
 It might be lure objected unto me, (and even by 
 one worthy of controversy,) that I have spoken of 
 Love as though it were a thing outward and visible: 
 not oidy a spiritual essence, but as a bodily sub- 
 stance also. Tlie which thing, in absolute trutli, is 
 a fallacy; Love not being of itself a substance, but 
 an accident of substance. Yet that I speak of 
 
 [49]
 
 €l)f pcUj Uifc 
 
 Love as tliotij^Ii il utrr a tliiiij; t.iiijjihlo and cvcii 
 liuinaii. a|)|)i;irs l)y tlinr tliinjj;s wliicli I say tlu-ri-- 
 oC. And firstly, I say that I |)rrc«ivrd Lovf coming 
 towards iiif; wliir«l)y. si-fing that to cumc hcspi'aks 
 hK'«)motioii. and siring also how |>hih)so|)liy tcacli- 
 rth us that none hut a corporeal substance hath 
 locomotion, it seemeth that I speak of Love as of a 
 corporeal suhstanee. And secondly, I say that 
 Love smiled: and thirdly, that Love spake; facul- 
 ties (and espei'ially the risible faculty) whicli 
 appear proper unto man: whereby it further seem- 
 eth that I speak of Love as of a man. Now that 
 this matter may be ex])laincd, (as is fitting,) it must 
 first be remeniln i» d that anciently they who wrote 
 poems of Love wrote not in the vulgar tongue, but 
 rather certain j)oets in the Latin tongue. I mean, 
 among us, although |)erehance the same may have 
 bien among others, and although likewise, a.s 
 among the Greeks, they were not writers of spoken 
 language, but men of letters treated of these things. 
 And indeed it is not a great number of years .since 
 ))oetry began tt) be made in tlu- vulgar tongue; the 
 writing of rhymes in spoken language correspond- 
 ing to the writing in metre of Latin verse, by a 
 certain analogy. And I say that it is but a little 
 wliile, because if we examine the Language of oco 
 and the language of .y/, we shall not find in those 
 tongues any written thing of an earlier date than 
 the last hundred ,ind fifty years. Also the reason 
 why certain of a \ try mean sort obtained at the first 
 some fame as jjoets is, that before them no man had 
 written verses in the language of si: and of these, 
 the first was moved to the writing of such virses by 
 the wisii to make himself imderstood of a certain 
 lady, unto whom Latin poetry was ditiicult. This 
 
 L •^>t> ]
 
 Cf)c pctu Itifc 
 
 tliin/^ is against siuli a^ rliyiiir coiK-triiin}; other 
 inatttTs than h)vc; that iiiodf of spi-tch having hien 
 first ustcl for thi- txprtssion of h)Vf alont-. Whtre- 
 fore, sct'ing tliat jjotts have a licinsc aUowt-d thtin 
 that is not allowed unto the writers of prose, and 
 seeing also that they who write in rhyme are simply 
 poets in the vulgar tongue, it becomes fitting and 
 reasonable that a larger license should be given to 
 these than to other modern writers; and that any 
 meta])hor or rhctorieal similitude which is permitted 
 unto poets, should also be counted not unseemly in 
 the rhymirs of the \ ulgar tongue. Thus, if we pcr- 
 ceive that tlu' former have caused inanimate things 
 to speak as though they had sense and reason, and 
 to discourse one with another; yea, and not only 
 actual things, but such also as liave no real exist- 
 ence, (seeing that tlii'v have made things which are 
 not. to speak; and oftentimes written of those 
 which are merely accidents as though they were 
 substances and things human); it should therefore 
 be permitted to tiie latter to do the like; which is to 
 say, not inconsiderably, but with such sufficient 
 motive as may afterwards be set forth in j)rose. 
 
 That tlif Latin potts lia\f done thus, appears 
 through X'irgil, where he saith that Juno (to wit, a 
 goddess hostile to the Trojans) s|)ake unto .-Kolus, 
 master of the Winds; as it is written in the first 
 book of the .I'ini'id. /Eole, iiamcjue tihi, etc.; and 
 that tills master of the ^^'inds made reply: runs, o 
 rciiina, (iiiid optcs — Ex pi ora re labor, ììiilii jussa 
 capcsxcrc /V/.v est. And through the same poet, the 
 inanimate thing s|)eaketh mito the animate, in the 
 third book of the .Twieid, where it is written: Darda- 
 iiidd' duri, etc. With Lucan, the animate thing 
 speaketh to the inanimate; as thus: Multimi, Roma, 
 
 [51]
 
 ZUc Orili ìlifc 
 
 tiiiiirn (li'hfx ririliliu.s nrini.'i. In I Inr.icc, mail is 
 Iliadi- to sjuak to liis own iiitilli^iiK-c as unto aii- 
 otlur prrson; (and not only liatli Horacr done this, 
 l)ut JHTriii In- followctli tlir i-xcrlicnt Ilonu-r). ns 
 tliiis in liis l'oitics: Dir iiiilii, Miixii, virtim, etc. 
 'I liroiij^li Ovid, I,o\f spiakctii as a liunian crfaturt", 
 in tilt- Itfginnin^ ot liis disc-ourst- Dr lii-mcdiis 
 Amoris: as thus: tifila milii, video, bella paratitur. 
 ait. ìiy which i-nsanipK-s tliis tiling shall he madr 
 mani test unto such as may Iti- oH'cndcd at any part 
 of this my hook. And hst sonu- of tin- conimon sort 
 should Ik- niov«'d to j«'«TÌnj; luTcat. I will ht-ri- add, 
 that iicitlur did these ancient po«ts speak thus with- 
 out consideration, nor should they who arc makers 
 of rhyme in our day write after the same fashion, 
 having no reason in what they write; for it were a 
 shameful thing if one should rhyme under the scin- 
 hlancc of meta))hor or rhetorical similitude, and 
 afterwards, l.eiiiir (|uestioiied thereof, should l)e un- 
 ahle to rid his words of such scmhianee. unto their 
 right understanding. Of whom, (to wit. of such as 
 rhyme thus foolisiily.) myself and tin first among 
 my f riends do know many. 
 
 Hut returning to the matter of my discourse. 
 This e.xcclleiit lady, of whom I spake in what hath 
 gone before, came at last into such favour with all 
 men, that when siie passed anywhere folk ran to 
 hehold her; which thing was a de«'p joy to me: and 
 when slu- drew nc.-ir unto any, so much truth and 
 simpleiiess entered into his luart, that he d.ired 
 neither to lift his eyes nor to return her salutation: 
 and unto this, many who have felt it can hear wit- 
 ness. .*^he went along crowned and clothed with 
 humility, showing no whit of pride in all that she 
 iicard and saw: and when she h.id gone by, it was 
 
 I .V.' I
 
 said of many, " TJiis is not a woinin, l)iit one of tlic 
 beaiititul aiifjcls of" Hc.ivcn; " and tlicrc wire some 
 that said: " 'I'liis is siirtly .1 miracle; lilcsst-d he the 
 Lord, wlio halh power to work thus marvcUoiislv." 
 I say, of very sooth, that she sliowed hirself so 
 genth" and so full of all ])rrfiction, that she bred 
 in those who looked upon her a soothing quiet be- 
 yond any speech; neither could any look upon lier 
 without sighing immediately. Thes»' things, and 
 things yet more wonderful, were brought to ])ass 
 through her miraculous virtue. \\'herefore I, con- 
 sidering thereof and wishing to resume the endless 
 talc of her praises, resolved to write somewhat 
 wherein I might dwell on her surj)assing iuHuencc; 
 to the end that not only they who had beheld her, 
 but others also, might know as much concerning her 
 as words could give to the lUKierstanding. And it 
 was then that I wrote this sonnet: — 
 
 My lady looks so gentle and so ])ure 
 When yielding salutation by the way. 
 That the tongue trembles and has nought to say. 
 
 And the eyt's, which fain would see, may not endure. 
 \nd still, amid the praise she hears secure. 
 She walks with hmnhleness for her array; 
 Seeming a creature sent from H<aven to stay 
 
 On earth, and show a miracle made sure. 
 
 She is so jileasant in the eyes of men 
 
 That through the sight the inmost heart doth gain 
 A sweetness which needs jiroof to know it by: 
 
 And from between her lips there seems to move 
 
 A soothing essence that is full of lo\t'. 
 Saying for ever to the spirit, " Sigh ! 
 
 This soiuiet is so easy to uuderst and. from what 
 is afore narrated, that it needs no di\isi()n; and 
 
 L •'53 J
 
 C()f pcU) ilifc 
 
 thcrtlOrc, leaving it. I s.iy .ilso Ih it this «•xcclKnt 
 I;uiv rainc into such l.nour witli .ill iiicii, that not 
 oiilv she hirsclf was luuiniind and connncndid, but 
 tliroujili htr cDnipanionshi)». Iionour and couiiniiida- 
 tioii canir unto otlnTs. Wlitnt Or» I. |)«Tr«ivinj5 
 this, and wisliin^x lli''t 't should also he made nian- 
 it'rst to thosr that Induid it not. wrote the sonntt 
 licrr followini;; whrrfin is sij^nifit-d tlu' j)ow(r whifh 
 htr virtuf h.id upon other ladies: — 
 
 I''oH certain he hath seen all perl'ectness 
 W'iio anion^ other ladies hath seen mine: 
 Thev that p) with her huud)Iy should combine 
 
 To tliank their (iod for such peculiar grace. 
 
 So ])ert"ect is the beauty of her face 
 That it begets in no wise any sign 
 Of envy, but draws round her a clear line 
 
 Of love, and blessed faith, and gentleness. 
 
 Merely tlie sight of her makes all things bow: 
 Not she herself alone is liolier 
 
 Than all; but lurs. through her, are raised 
 above. 
 
 From all her acts such lovely graces flow 
 That truly one may never think of her 
 Without a j)assion of exceeding love. 
 
 This soiiììct has three parts. In the first, I sai/ in 
 what companji this ladi/ appeared most iroiidrotis. 
 In the seeoud, I sai/ haw •rraeious was her societif. 
 In the tliird, I tell of the things whieh she, with 
 power, worked upon others. The seeond hcfiins 
 here, " Thei/ that go with her; " the third here," So 
 perfeet." This last part divides into three. In the 
 first, I tell what she operated upon women, that is, 
 hif their own f'aculties. In the second, I tell what 
 
 I r,i 1
 
 €hc |!)ctD Hifc 
 
 she operated in them through others. In the third, 
 I .sai/ how she not only operated in ironien, hut in all 
 people; and not only while herself present, hnf, hi/ 
 memorif of her, operated wondronsly. The second 
 he<iins here, " Merely the siirht ; " the third here, 
 From (ill her acts." 
 
 Tlicrcaf'tcr on n day, I began to consick-r tliat 
 wliicli I liad said of uiy lady: to wit. in tlifsc two 
 soniirts .iforcgonc: and hcroniing aware that I liad 
 not sjKiken ot" her innncdiate effect on nie at that 
 especial time, it seemed to me that I had spoken de- 
 fectively. Whereupon I resolved to write somewhat 
 of the manner wherein I was then subject to her 
 influence, and of what her influence then was. And 
 conceiving that I should not be able to say these 
 things in the small com])ass of a sonnet. I began 
 tliereforc a ])oeni with this begiiniing:-- 
 
 LovE hath so long ])ossessed me tor his own 
 
 And made his lordshij) so familiar 
 That he, wdio at first irked me, is now grown 
 
 Unto my heart as its best secrets are. 
 
 And thus, when he in such sore wise doth mar 
 My life that all its strength seems gone from it. 
 Mine iinnost being then feels thoroughly (|uit 
 
 Of anguish, and all evil keeps afar. 
 lx)ve also gathers to such pout r in nic 
 
 That my sighs s))eak, each one a grievous thini;. 
 
 Always soliciting 
 My lady's salutation ))iteously. 
 Whenever she beholds me, it is so. 
 Who is more sweet tiian anv words can show. 
 
 [ •">'> 1
 
 "Tlìf pfU) li Iff 
 
 (^ikhikxIo sidit saln cirittts piena poputo! facia 
 rst ifiiiisì vidiin (Idininii •;rntiiiìn ! 
 
 I was still octwpiid witli this potin. ( li.i\ iiij; com- 
 posfd tlurti)!" Diily the .ibox c-uTittcìi stanza.) wluii 
 tli«' Lord (i()(l ol justitT failed iiiy most grac'i«)us 
 lady unto Himself", that she mi;^ht he glorious under 
 till- hanuer of that Messed (^ueen Mary, whose name 
 had always a deep reverence in the words of holy 
 lieatrice. And because haply it m'ght he found 
 good that I should say somewhat concerning her 
 departure, I will herein declare what arc tin- reasons 
 which make th.il 1 shall not do so. 
 
 And the reasons are three. The first is, that such 
 matter helongeth not of right to the |)resent argu- 
 ment, if OIK' consider the opening of this little hook. 
 The second is, that even though the })resent argu- 
 ment required it. my pen doth not suffice to write in 
 a fit manner of this thing. And the third is, that 
 were it both possible and of absolute necessity, it 
 would still be unseemly for me to speak tln-rcof, 
 seiing that thereby it must behove me to speak also 
 mine own praises: a thing that in whosoever d<Hth 
 it is worthy of blame. l"or the which reasons. I 
 will leave tliis matter to b<' treated of by some other 
 than myself. 
 
 Nevertheless, as tin iiuiiilier nine, which number 
 hath often had mention in what hath gone before, 
 (and not, as it might ajipear. without reason.) seems 
 also to have borne a j)art in the manner i>f her 
 death: it is therefore right that I should say some- 
 what thereof. And for this cause, having first said 
 what was the part it bore herein, I will afterwards 
 j)oint out a reason wliieh made that this number was 
 so closely allied uiilo my lady. 
 
 [56 J
 
 Beata Bea;.. a 
 (Drmvii'f ty D- G. Rosstlti)
 
 €^c |i)ctD nife 
 
 I say, thrn, tli.it accord'n^ t<» tlu' division of time 
 in Italy, her iiiost nohlf spirit (icparted fr«)ni among 
 us in tin- first liour of" tlir ninth day of tlif montli; 
 and accordiiifT to tlw division of time in Syria, in 
 tlir ninth month of the yrar: sciing th.at iismim, 
 which willi us is October, is there the first montli. 
 Also she was taken from among us in that year of 
 our reckoning (to wit, of tlic years of our Lord) in 
 which the perfect numher was nine times multiplied 
 within that century wiierein she was born into the 
 world: which is to say, the thirteenth century of 
 Christians. 
 
 And touching the reason why this number was so 
 closely allied unto her, it may ])cradventure be this. 
 According to Ptolemy, (and also to the Christian 
 verity), the revolving heavens are nine; and accord- 
 ing to the common opinion among astrologers, these 
 nine heavens together have influence over the earth. 
 Wherefore it would appear that this number was 
 thus allied unto her for the j)uri)ose of signifying 
 that, at her birth, all these nine heavens were at 
 perfect unity with each other as to their influence. 
 This is one reason that may be brought : but more 
 narrowly considering, and according to the infal- 
 lible truth, this number was her own self: that is to 
 say, by similitude. As thus. The number three is 
 the root of the number nine; seeing that without the 
 interposition of any other number, being multiplied 
 merely by itself, it jiroduceth nine, as we manifestly 
 perceive that three times three are nine. Thus, three 
 being of itself the efficient of nine, and the Great 
 Efficient of Miracles being of Himself Three Per- 
 sons, (to wit: the I'ather, the Son. and the Holy 
 Spirit,) which, being Three, are also One: — this 
 lady was accompanied by the number nine to the 
 
 [57 J
 
 €!]c fic\}j iiiff 
 
 «■11(1 tli.it nun Miiijlil clf.irly pcrccivt- her to lie .1 nine, 
 that is, a inirarlc. wliosf only root is tlif Holy 'I'riii- 
 ity. It may in- tliit a more siilitilc person would find 
 for this thin;; a reason of <;r<at(r siihtiltv: hut such 
 is the reason tliat 1 find, and that likith ine lust. 
 
 Alter this most gracious creature had j^onc out 
 from anion;; us. the whole city came to he as it were 
 widowed and despoiled of all di;riiily. 'I'heii I. left 
 mournin;; in this desol.-ite city, wrote unto the prin- 
 cipal persons thereof, in an epistle, concerning its 
 condition ; taking for my commencement those words 
 of Jeremias: (^iioinodo .sedei sold cirittisl etc. And 
 I make mention ol this, that none may marvel 
 wherefore [ set down these words heforc. in begin- 
 ning to tr<al of her death. Also if any should hlainr 
 me, in that 1 do not transcribe that epistle whereof 
 I have spoken. I will make it mine excuse that I 
 began this little hook with the- intent that it should 
 be written altogether in the vulgar tongue; where- 
 fore, seeing that the epistle I s|)eak of is in Latin, 
 it belongeth not to mine undertaking: more espe- 
 cially as I know that my chief friend, for whom I 
 write this book, wished also that the whole of it 
 should be in the vulgar tongue. 
 
 \\'lien mine eyes had wept for some while, until 
 tlu y were so weary with weeping that I could no 
 longer through them give ease to my sorrow. I be- 
 thought me that a few mournful words might stand 
 me instead of tears. And tin rt Core 1 projiosed to 
 make a poem, that wee])ing 1 might speak therein 
 of her for whom so much sorrow had destroyed my 
 spirit; and I then began " The eyes that weep." 
 
 That this poem maif seem to remain the more 
 widotred at its close, I null divide it before writing 
 it; and this method I n'ill observe henceforward. I 
 
 [58]
 
 say that tJiis poor little poem has three parts. The 
 first is a prelude. In the second, I speak of her. 
 In the third, I speak pitifully to the poem. The 
 second begins here, '" Beatrice is gone up; " the 
 third here, " Jf'eep, pitiful Song of mine." The 
 first divides into three. In the first, I say what 
 moves me to speak. In the second, I say to whom 
 I mean to speak. In the third, I say of whom I 
 mean to speak. The second begins here, " And be- 
 cause often, thinking;" the third here, " And I trill 
 say." Then, when I say, " Beatrice is gone up," I 
 speak of her; and concerning iliis I have two parts. 
 First, I tell tiie cause why she was taken awaif 
 from us: afterwards, I say how one ireeps her part- 
 ing; and this part commences here, " Jl'onder fully." 
 This part divides into three. In the first, I say who 
 it is that weeps her not. In the second, I say who 
 it is that doth weep her. In the third, I speak of 
 my condition. The second begins here, " But sigh- 
 ing comes, and grief ; " the third, " With sighs." 
 Then, when I say, " Weep, pitiful Song of mine," 
 I speak to this my song, telling it what ladies to 
 go to, and stay ivitli. 
 
 The eyes that wtip l'or jjily of the lieart 
 
 Have wept so long tliat their grief languishetli, 
 And tliey ha\e no more tears to we» p witlial : 
 And now, if I wouhl ease me of a ))art 
 Of what, litth- l)y litth-. hads to death. 
 It must he done hy speeeh, or not at all. 
 And heeause often, thinking, I reeall 
 How it was pleasant, ere she went afar. 
 To talk of her with you, kind damozels, 
 I talk with no one else, 
 But oidy with such liearts as women's are. 
 
 [59]
 
 Zl)t pcUj ilifc 
 
 Ami J will s.iy, .siili mìMiìiij^ .is spccli f.iijs. 
 Tliat .slu' hath front- to Ht-avtii .sii(ldtiil\ , 
 And h.itli IcÉt I.ovc hcjow. to moiirii uitli me. 
 
 Hc.ltric'<' is i,rollf up into lliirli Ilf.lVttl. 
 
 I'lu- kingdom when the .iiif^cls .in- .-it pt-ao»' ; 
 And livts with tluin; and to liir Crit-nds is dead. 
 Not hy tin- I'rost of wintir was shr driven 
 Away, like otiier.s; iu)r by snniincr-iie.its ; 
 Hut tliroiiffji a j)«.TtVc-t f^entleness. instead. 
 l"or from the lanij) of her meek lowlihead 
 Swell ,in exceedinj; glory went up hence 
 'rii.it it woke wonder in the Kternal Sire, 
 L iitil ;i sweet desire 
 Entered Him for th.at lovely exeellenee. 
 
 So th.it He hade her to Himself aspire; 
 Counting this weary and most evil plaec 
 Unwortiiy of a thing so full of grace. 
 
 M'onderfully out of the beautiful form 
 
 Soared her clear sj)irit, waxing glad the while; 
 And is in its first home, there where it is. 
 Who sjjeaks thereof, and feels not the tears warm 
 L j)on his faci-, must have become so vile 
 As to bi' dead to all sweet symp.ilhies. 
 Out upon him! .an abject wr»teh like this 
 May not imagine anything of her,- 
 
 He needs no bitter te.irs for his relief. 
 Hut sighing comes, and grief. 
 And the desire to find no comforter, 
 
 (Save only Death, who makes all sorrow brief). 
 To him who for a while turns in his thought 
 How she hath been among us, and is not. 
 
 [60]
 
 Ziyc j;>cUj ìlifc 
 
 With si^lis my bosom always labourcth 
 III tliinking, as 1 do continually. 
 
 Of iicr for whom my heart now hrt-aks apace; 
 And very often whin I think of death. 
 
 Swell a jrreat inward lonj^jng comes to me 
 That it will ehanu;e the eolour of my face; 
 And, if the idea settles in its j)laee, 
 All my limhs shake as with an a<>;ue-fit: 
 Till, starting up in wild bewilderment, 
 I do become so shent 
 That I go forth, lest folk misdoul)t of it. 
 Afterward, calling with a sore lament 
 On Beatrice, 1 ask, " Canst thou be dead? 
 And calling on her. 1 am eomtorted. 
 
 Grief with its tears, and anguish with its sighs, 
 Come to me now whene'er I am alone; 
 
 So that 1 think the sight of me gives ))ain. 
 And what my life hath been, that living dit s. 
 Since for my lady the New Birth's begun, 
 I have not any language to explain. 
 And so, dear ladies, though my heart wt re fain, 
 I scarce could tell indeed how I am thus. 
 All joy is with my bitter life at war; 
 Yea, I am fallen so far 
 That all men seem to say, " (io out i rom us, " 
 
 Kyeing my cold white lijis, how dead they are. 
 But she, though I be bowed unto the dust. 
 Watches me; and will guerdon me. I trust. 
 
 Weep, pitiful Song of mine, upon thy way, 
 To the dames going and the damozels 
 For whom and for none else 
 
 Thy sisters have made music many a day. 
 
 Thou, tliat art very sad and not as they. 
 
 Go dwell thou with them as a mourner dwells. 
 
 I ()1 1
 
 ♦Che Orili Ulte 
 
 Afttr I li.ul wrilli II llii> |,in in. 1 ricti\r(l tilt- visit 
 (»f .1 l'riciid wlioiii I foMiilcd .is sccoikI unto tur in 
 tlic (k\ur«'cs of ("riiii(lslii|). .iiid wlio, iiiorcovtr, liad 
 Ikcii uiiit«'(l l)y tilt- lu.irrst kiiuln-d tn tli.it most 
 gracious crfalun". And wlicii \vf liad a liltir spoki-n 
 to<;rtli»T, lit' l)»<xan to solicit me that I would writ»- 
 sonu'wiiat in nifiiiory of a lady who had dit-d; and 
 In- disjruiscd his sptrch, so as to si'i'Ui to iu- spi-ak- 
 iii<r of" aiiothtT wiio was hut lately (h-ad: wli«T<fort* 
 I, p«rc(i\ ill»; that his spci-fh was of iioiw otiur than 
 that hlt'ssfd one htrsclt', toh! him that it should In- 
 done as lie n (juind. Tiieii afterwards. li.-i\ inj; 
 thought lluri-of, 1 iiii i';:iiied to gi\t- vi-ut in a sonnet 
 to some part ot" my hichh-n lamentations; but in surh 
 sort that it mi<;ht seem to l)e spoken by this friend 
 of mine, to whom I was to givt- it. And tin- sonmt 
 saitli thus: " Stay now with m»-, " ete. 
 
 77//.V .soiiiK't li(i.s tiro parts. In Ihr first, I call the 
 I'dilli fnl of Love to iutir inc. In the second, I re- 
 late niij iniscrahic coiKlition. The second begins 
 here, " Marl, lunr tlici/ force." 
 
 Stay now with me. and listen to my sighs, 
 
 Yv ])itt-ous hearts, as ])ity bids ye do. 
 
 Mark how they force tlieir w.iy out and |)rcss 
 thrtuiiili ; 
 If they be oiie(- ptnt up, tht- whole life dii-s. 
 Seeing that now indeed my wi-ary eyt-s 
 
 Oflem-r refusi- ili in I tan tell to you. 
 
 ( l'',\i-n though my eiidli ss gri(-f is excr new.) 
 To weep and let lli<- smother«-d anguish rise. 
 Also in sighing ye shall hear me c.ill 
 
 On lu-r whose- bh-ssèd presene»- doth eiiri<-h 
 'I'lir only home that wrM befillelh her:
 
 Zi)c J^clD àlifc 
 
 And ye shall hear a bitter scorn ot all 
 
 Sent from the inmost of my spirit in speech 
 That mourns its j<»y ami its joy's minister. 
 
 IJut when I had written tliis sonnet, hetliinking 
 me wlio he was to whom I was to give it, tliat it 
 miff lit apj)ear to be his speeeh, it seemed to me tiiat 
 this was bnt a poor and barren gift for one of her 
 so near kindred. Wherefore, before giving him this 
 sonnet. I wrote two stan/as of a jxieni: the first 
 being wriltrn in \ try sootli as though it were spoken 
 by him. but the otiier being mine own speeeh, allxit, 
 utilo one who should not look elosely, they would 
 both seem to be said by the same person. Never- 
 theless, looking elosely. one nnist })ereeivi' that it 
 is not so, inasmueh as one docs not call this most 
 gracious creature his hulif. and the other does, as is 
 manifestly aj)i)areMt. And I gave the ])oem and the 
 sonnet unto my t riend. saying that I had made them 
 only for him. 
 
 I'lic poem hririns, " Jf'haterer triiilf," and iuis 
 two parts. Ill the first, fhat in, in tlic first stanza, 
 this nil/ dear friciiil, her hiiismaii, laments. In the 
 second, I lament ; that is, in tiie otiier stanza, ivìiirìi 
 begins, "For ever." .ln<l tints it appears tlial in 
 this poem tiro persons lament, of irlioin one laments 
 as a brother, the other as a servant. 
 
 \\ H ATKVKH while till' thought eomes over me 
 riiat I may not again 
 
 liehold that lady whom I mouni for now. 
 About uiy heart iny mind brings eonslantly 
 So much of exlreme paiti 
 
 'I'liat I say. Soul of luitK . why stayest thou.'' 
 Truly the anguish. Soul, that we must Imjw 
 
 I 03 1
 
 ZUc Of 111 Uifc 
 
 lirni'.itli, until «<■ win oiil ol llns lilC, 
 
 (iivis UIC full oft ;i ff.ir tli.it trriiil)Uth: 
 So tli.it I cill on D.-.itli 
 
 l',\tn .IS on Sl«c|i one c.illi tli .iftcr strifi-, 
 S.iyinjf. Colili- unto me. Life sliowi-tli j^riin 
 Anil li.irr; .ind if oin- dirs. I tiivy liiin. 
 
 l''or «-ver, .•iinoiif"; .ill my si^lis wliicli Imrn. 
 'riicrc is .1 piteous .s|)««cli 
 
 Tli.it {l.-iniours upon Df.itli ronlinu.illy : 
 ^ ci. unto liini (li)tli my whole spirit turn 
 Since first liis ii.ind did r»;u'li 
 
 My l.idys life with most foul cruelty. 
 Hut I roiii the liii^ht of woin.ins f;iirness. she. 
 (ioin^ up t roll) us with the joy we li.id, 
 (ircw pt rf((tly .ind spiritu.illy l.iir; 
 'rii.it so she spri'.ids even there 
 A lijflit of Love which m;ikes the Angels ^l.id. 
 And even unto their suhtle minds c.in hriii^ 
 A ccrt.'ii?! .iwe of profound m.ir\ cllin^. 
 
 ( )n Ih.it day wliicli liilfilird llie yc.ir since my 
 Inly li.id been made ol the litizeiis of elern.il life, 
 rniH inhering me of her .'is I s;it .iloiie. I lietook 
 iiiysrit to (Ir.iw the rescmhl.-iiu'c ot in iii^el upon 
 c<rt.iin t.ihlets. And while I did thus, cli.-mcing to 
 turn my Iie.id. I perceived th.it some were standing 
 beside nie to whom I should h.ive jriveii courteous 
 welcome, .md tli.it they wer<- observing wli.it I did: 
 .liso I Ir.inied .ifterw.irds tli.it they had been there 
 .1 wliiU- befon I perceived them. I'erctiving whom. 
 I arose for s,iliit.ilinii. .ind s.iid: "Another w;is with 
 me." 
 
 ,\l terw.irds. win n they h.id h ft me. I set myselt 
 ag.iin to mine occup.ition, to wit. to the dr.iwing 
 
 I «t I
 
 €J)C ||>ftu llifc 
 
 figures of nnfjrls: in doing which I concrivcd to 
 writf of this in.ittcr in rhynir, as for hrr anni- 
 versary, and to address my rhymes unto those who 
 had just left me. It was then that I wrote the 
 sonnet which saitli, *' That lady: " and as this son- 
 net hath two eommtneiinents, it behoveth me to 
 divide it with both of them lier«". 
 
 / saji Ihdl, (iccorfliiifi to the first, this soniiet h<is 
 three parts. In the first, I saif that this lady nas 
 then in vitf tnemori/. In the second, I tell what Love 
 therefore did with me. In the third, I speak of the 
 effects of Love. The second he^ins here, " Love, 
 knowing;" the third here, "Forth went thri/." 
 This part divides into two. In the one, I sai/ that 
 all mji sighs issued speakin<s. In the other, I sai/ 
 how some spoke certain words different from the 
 others. The second heirins here, " And still." In 
 this same manner is it divided with the other he- 
 ginning, save that, in the first part, I tell wlien this 
 ladji had thus come into mi/ mind, and this I say 
 not in the other. 
 
 That lady of all g»'ntle memories 
 
 Had lighted on my soul; — whose new abode 
 Lies now, as it was well ordained of (jod, 
 
 Among the jxior in heart, wheri' Mary is. 
 
 Love, knowing that dear image to he his. 
 
 Woke up within the sick heart sorrow-how d. 
 L nto the sigl'.s which are its wtary load 
 
 Saying, " Go forth." And they wtiit forth, I wis; 
 
 Forth went they from my breast that throbbed and 
 ached ; 
 With such a pang as oftentimes will bathe 
 
 Mine eyes with tears when I am left alone. 
 
 [ f)5 ]
 
 Z\]c Of 111 Uiff 
 
 And still flidsi M^'lis svinili (In w tin- lifnviest 
 l.n Mill 
 (line wIlisptTillt; tlms: " () Iiolilr illtrllrcl I 
 It is .1 Vf.ir tn-d.iy that llniu art gone." 
 
 S K; « ( ) M ) ( < > M M K N « K M K N T. 
 
 Til AT lady nl all jfiiitlr mrinorirs 
 
 Had li^^litcd on my simj ; -tor wliosc sake flnw'd 
 Ilu- tiars ot I,o\c; in wIhuii tlir |»()\v< r aliodi- 
 
 ^^'lli(•ll Ii-d you to ol)s(T\i \vliil< I did this. 
 
 I.o\c. knowiiiLj that dear iniajjc to Ik his. etc. 
 
 'I'litn. h.i\ ill".; sat lor sonu- space sori-ly in tlioupht 
 hci-aiisf of the timi- that was now past. I was so 
 tìllrd with dolorous iinaf;ininj;s that it luTamc out- 
 wardly manifest in ininc alt«'rr(l fountt-naiuT. 
 Whereupon, feeling this and luinj; in dread lest any 
 should havi- seen me, I lifted mine eyes to look; and 
 then perceivt'd a younj; and very beautiful lady, 
 who was gaziiiif ii|)iiii iiu from a window with a 
 gaze full of pity, so that IIk \«Ty sum of pity ap- 
 peared gathered togeth» r in her. And seeing that 
 unhappy persons, when they beget compassion in 
 others, are then most moved unto weeping, as though 
 they also felt pity for themselves, it came to pass 
 that mine ives began to be inclined unto tears. 
 Wherefore, becoming fearful lest I should make 
 manifest mine abj»et condition, I rose up, and went 
 where I et)uld not be seen of that lady; saying after- 
 wards within myself: " Certainly with her also must 
 abide most noble Love."' And with that, I resolved 
 upon writing a sonnet, wlnrein, speaking unto her, 
 I should say all that I have just said. And as this 
 sonnet is very evident. I will not divide it: — 
 
 I m I
 
 Zl)( peto llifc 
 
 Mine eves liditld llic bKs.scd |)ily spririj^ 
 
 lilt» thy roiiiiltiiaiicf imiiudi.ilcly 
 
 A while .ijroiK', when thou IxIk Id.st in ine 
 Tilt" sickness only hichhn ^riit c.in hriiif^; 
 And then I km w tliou wast considering 
 
 How ahjeet .ind I'orhirn my life must lie; 
 
 And I hecamt afraid that thou sliouhlst see 
 My weepinjr, and account it a liase thiii<i;. 
 Therefore I went out from thee: feeliuii liow 
 
 The t<ars were strai<;htway loosened at my he.irt 
 IJeiu-ath thine eyes' compassionate control. 
 And afterwards I said witiiin my soul: 
 
 " Lo! with this lady dwells the coimlerpart 
 Of the same Love who holds nii weeping now. " 
 
 It happt lied after this, that whciis«)i\ cr I was 
 seen ol this lady, she bi-came ])ale and of a piteous 
 countenance, .is though it had been with lo\c; 
 whcrehv she rememhered me many times of my own 
 most noble lady, who was wont to be of a liki' pale- 
 ness. And I know that often, when I could not 
 weej) nor in any way give casi- unto mine anguisji. 
 I went to look upon this lady, who seemed to bring 
 the tears into my eyes by the mere sight of her. Of 
 the which thing I bethought nie to speak unto l:cr 
 in rhyme, and then made this sonnet: which begins. 
 " Love's jiallor, " and which is ])lain without Ixiiiii 
 divided, by its exj)osition aforesaid: — 
 
 Love's pallor and the semblance of deep ruth 
 
 Were never yet shown forth so j)erfcctly 
 
 In any lady's face, chancing to see 
 Grief's miserable countenance unccnith. 
 As in thine, lady, they have sprung to soothe, 
 
 \\'hcn in mine anguish thou hast looked on me; 
 
 Until sometimes it seems as if. through thee, 
 
 I f)T 1
 
 «The OfUi llifc 
 
 Mv lic.irt niij;lit .iliiiost w.iiuh-r from its truth. 
 \ i[ si> it is. 1 iMiiiidt lioici iiiiiii- «yts 
 !• rolli gaziti;; vtry oltiii iipoii lliim- 
 
 In tlu" sorr liopi' to slud tlios»- tears tlicv krcp ; 
 And it Midi tiiin-, thou iiiak st tlir |uiit t«ar.>> risr 
 l.\i II to tlir lirim, till tin- «yes wast»' and |tiii<-; 
 \ t I t-aimot llity, wliilc tlioii art prrsnit. wi i |>. 
 
 At Icii^illi. I>y llic coiistaiit sigili of this lady, iiiiik 
 I'vcs lngiM lo 111 gladdciu-d o\ triiiufli with l.cr i-om 
 paiiv; through which thing many times I lia<i iiiiii-h 
 linn st. and rtlaikrd inysrlf as a has»- person: also, 
 many times 1 t-iirsed the unsteadfastmss of mini 
 ey«s, and said to them inwardly: " Was not your 
 gri»vous f(»nditioii ol wi « ping wont one while lu 
 make others weep? And will ye now l"org<t this 
 tiling because a lady l»)ok»tli upon you? who s«) 
 looketh mirely in eompassion ot' the grief ye then 
 showed lOr your >wii hit ss((l I.mIv. Hut wliatso y( 
 can, that do y»', accursed eyes I many a time will I 
 make you rememher it I for n»'v»T, till death dry you 
 up. should ye make an end of" your weeping. ' 
 And when I had spoken thus unto mine eyes. I was 
 taken again with extrem»' and grievous sighing. 
 And to till- end that this inw.ird strife which 1 had 
 undergone might Jiot he hidden fnuii all s.i\ ing the 
 niiscr.il le wretch who t ndured it. I |)ropose(i to write 
 a soniu't, and to coiiiprehend in it this horrihlc con- 
 dition. And 1 wrote this, wliiili liegins. " The \ ery 
 hitter weeping. " 
 
 I'lir xoiiuct has tiro ptiris. hi the first. I speak to 
 viij ri/rs, as viij iicart spohv tiitliiii inifsvlf. In tin- 
 second, I remove a <li//itultij, slioirifig who it is that 
 speaks thus: and this part heirins here, " So far." 
 It well luiiiht receive other divisious also: but this 
 
 I f)S I
 
 The Lady of Pity 
 {Drauiiigby P. (.'. Kossdli)
 
 Cfjc |f)cto 3life 
 
 would be useless, since it is manifest by the pre- 
 cedinir ejpositian. 
 
 " Thk very bitter \veej)ing that ye made 
 So long a time together, eyes of mine. 
 Was wont to make tlie tears of pity sliine 
 
 In otlier eyes full oft, as I have said. 
 
 liiit now this thing were scarec remembered 
 If I, on my part, foully would eombine 
 \\'ith you. and not reeall eaeh aneient sign 
 
 Of gri«"f, and her for whom your tears were shed. 
 
 It is your fiekleness that doth betr.iy 
 
 My mind to tears, and makes me tremble thus 
 What while a lady greets me with her eyes. 
 
 Except by death, we must not .my way 
 Forget our lady who is gone from us." 
 
 So far doth my heart utter, and then .>^ighs. 
 
 The sight of this lady lirouglit mt- into so un- 
 wonted a condition that I often thought of her as of 
 one too dear unto me; and I began to consider lier 
 thus: "This lady is young, beautiful, gentle, and 
 wise; ))erehanee it was Love himself who set her 
 in my path, that so my life might find j)eaee." And 
 there were times when I thought yet more fondly, 
 initil my heart consented unto its reasoning. But 
 when it had so consented, my thought would often 
 turn round upon me, as moved by reason, and cause 
 me to say within myself: " What hope is this which 
 would console me after so base a fashion, and Avhich 
 hath taken the jilace of all other imagining? " Also 
 there was another voice within me, that said: " And 
 wilt thou, having sutìfred so much tribulation 
 through Love, not escaj)e while yet thou mayst from 
 so much bitterness.' Thou must surely know that 
 
 [G9J
 
 Che Infill Hifr 
 
 this thoiiglit c.irrii s willi it llii- desirr oi" I-civr. and 
 drew its lil'c from IIk ;:;i rilli (V<'s of that lady who 
 vouchsaffd lini' so imicli l>it.v." Wlurt-fort- I, 
 haviiii; striven sorily and very often with iny.self, 
 hethoii^lit inr to say somewhat tlnreof in rhyme. 
 And si-einjf that in the l)attl«' of doultls. the \ ietory 
 most often r«inained with sneh as inelined towards 
 the \:Hly of whom 1 speak, it seemed to me tliat I 
 slioukl achlress this sonnet nnto her: in the Hrst line 
 whereof. I «ill tli.il tliou^ht which spake of her a 
 gcntk' tlioughl. only heeanse it spoke of one who 
 was genth-; heing of itself most vile. 
 
 In this .sonnet I make tni/self into two, accordinir 
 as »ii/ thoughts in re diriiled one from the other. 
 The one part I eall Heart, that is, appetite; the 
 other, iSoul, that is, reason; and I tell what one saith 
 to the other. And that it is fìttin-r to eall the appe- 
 tite Heart, and the reason Soul, is manifest enough 
 to them to whom I n-ish this to he open. True it is 
 that, in the prceedin<j: sonnet, I take the part of the 
 Heart airainst the Ki/es; and that appears eontrarif 
 to what I sai/ in the present; and therefore I say 
 that, there also, /»// the Heart I mean appetite, be- 
 cause i/et (rrcater teas in 1/ desire to rememher niif 
 most gentle ladi/ than to see this other, although 
 indeed I had some appetite towards her. but it ap- 
 peared slight: where from it appears thai the one 
 statement is not contrari/ to the other. This sonnet 
 has three parts. In the first, I begin to sai/ to this 
 ladi/ how nil/ desires turn all towards her. In the 
 second, I sai/ how the Soul, that is, the reason, 
 speaks to the Heart, that is, to the appetite. In 
 the third, I sai/ how the latter answers. The second 
 begins here, " .Imi what is thisY " thc^ third here, 
 " And the heart aiisirers." 
 
 [TO]
 
 Zi)c ji^ftu itifc 
 
 A fiKXTLK 11k)Ujj;1iI tlicrc is will ot'ttii start, 
 Within my secret self, to speech of thee: 
 Also of Love it speaks so tenderly 
 
 That much in me consents and takes its part. 
 
 " And what is this," tiie soul saith to the heart, 
 " That conieth thus to comfort thee and me. 
 And thence where it would dwell, thus potently 
 
 (an drive all otliir thoughts liy its strange art.' " 
 
 And the heart answers: " lie no more at strife 
 
 'Twixt doubt and doubt; this is Love's messenger 
 And speaketh hut his words, from him received ; 
 
 And all the strength it owns and all the life 
 It draweth from the gentle eyes of her 
 
 Who. looking on our grief, hath often grieved."' 
 
 But against this adversary of reason, there rose 
 up in me on a certain day, about the ninth hour, a 
 strong visible phantasy, wherein I seemed to behold 
 the most gracious Beatrice, habited in that eriuison 
 raiment which she had worn win n I had first be- 
 held her; also she apj)eared to me ot the same tender 
 age as then. \\'hereupoii 1 ttll into dee)) thought 
 of her: and my memory ran back, according to tiie 
 order of time, unto all those matters in the which she 
 had borne a i)art ; and my heart Ixgan j)ainfully to 
 repent of the desire by which it had so l)ascly let 
 itself be possessed during so many days, contrary 
 to the constancy of reason. 
 
 And then, this e\il desire being (|\iite gone from 
 me, all my thoughts turned again unto their exci-1- 
 lent Beatrice. And F say most truly that from that 
 hour I thought constantly ol her with the whole 
 humbled and .ishamed heart; tin- which became 
 often manifest in sighs, tiiat liad among them the 
 name of that most gracious creature, and liow slie 
 
 [71]
 
 Che i^cUj llifc 
 
 (1( |>.irlt (I frolli US. AUd il winild iiiiiii- to pass very 
 olttii. tliroii^li till- liitttr .inquisii ol' some one 
 tlioujrlit, tli.it I f"(irfj;ot hotli it, .-ind inysclt', and 
 wliirc I w.is. Hy this iiicrcas»- ot" sifrlis. iiiy wecp- 
 iii<;. which hct'or»' had Incn soincwliat K-sseued. in- 
 creascd in like maiiiitr; so tliat iniiu- «-yes sfi-nied 
 to l()ii|^ only for tc.irs and to chirish thtin. and cainc 
 at Last to lu' circltd iIkuiI uilh red as thou^i) thfV 
 liad suttcred martyrdom: m ith< r \v«tc they able to 
 look aj^ain ii|)on the luanty of any face that niif^ht 
 a^ain l)rin<; tlieni to shame and i\ il : from which 
 thin<;s it will appear that they were fitly gmrdoned 
 for their unsteadt astntss. Wherefore I (wishing 
 that mine ahandonment ol" all such evil desires and 
 \ain temptations should he certified and made man- 
 ifest, luyond all douhts which mifjjht have been suj;- 
 gested by the rhymes aforewritt«ii ) proposed to 
 write a sonnet wherein I should express this pur- 
 port. And I then wrote. " Woe's me ! " 
 
 / said, " iVoc's liif! " Ix'causc I was ashamvd of 
 the trifi'mia; of uiiiir e//e.v. 77//.V soiuit't I do not 
 divide, since its purport is liKinifest eiioiiiili. 
 
 Woe's me! by dint of all these sighs that come 
 Forth of my heart, its endless grief to jirove, 
 Miiu' eves are eon(|uere(l, so that i \( n to move 
 
 Their lids for greeting is grown troublesome. 
 
 Thev wept so long that now they are grief's home, 
 And count their tears all laughter far alx)vc: 
 Thev wept till they are circled now by Love 
 
 With a rt (1 circle in sign of martyrdom. 
 
 These nmsinus. and the sighs they bring from me. 
 Are grown at last so constant ajid so sore 
 
 That lt)\f swoons in my spirit with faint 
 breath ; 
 
 [72] .
 
 HcnriiifT in tliosr s.id souikIs coiitiiiu.iìly 
 
 Tlu- most swift iiMiiir tli.it my (If.id lady bore. 
 With m.'iny grii-vous words toiK'liin<i: lur dtatli 
 
 About this timt', it haiìpnud that a groat mimbir 
 of persons undtrtook a pilgrimage, to tlie end that 
 they might behold that blessed portraiture be- 
 queathed \nito us by our Lord Jesus Christ as the 
 image of His beautiful eounteii.anee. (upon which 
 eountenaiiee my dear l.idy now looketh eontinually). 
 And eertain among these pilgrims, who seemed very 
 thoughtful, j)assed by a path which is well-nigh in 
 the midst of the city where my most gracious lady 
 was born, and abode, and at last died. 
 
 Then I. beholding tin in. said within myself: 
 " Tiiese ))ilgrims seem to be come from very far; 
 and I think they cannot have he.ird speak of tiiis 
 lady, or know anything coneirning her. Their 
 thoughts are not of her. but of other things; it may 
 be. of their friends who are far distant, and whom 
 we. in our turn, know not." Ami I went on to say: 
 
 I know that it tii( y were of a country near unto 
 us, they would in some wist' seem disturl)ed. pass- 
 ing through this city which is so full of grief." 
 And I said also: "If I could speak with them a 
 space, I am certain that I should make them weep 
 before they went forth of this city; for those things 
 that they would hear from me must needs beget 
 weeping in any." 
 
 And when the last of them had gone by me. I 
 bethought me to write a sonnet, showing forth mine 
 inward spcecli ; and that it might seem the more 
 j)itiful, I made as though I had spok»'n it indeed 
 unto them. And I wrote this soiniet. which begin- 
 neth: " Ye pilgrim-folk." I made use of the word 
 
 [73]
 
 the Orili If if e 
 
 j)'iliir'ìì!i for its iriiiir.il siirnilic.ition ; lor " pilj^riin 
 may he undir.stood in two miiscs, out ^jtiural. aiid 
 one special. Gtiii r.il. so far as any man may lie 
 called a jiil^rim who leavttii tlir piaci- of liis birth; 
 whereas, more narrowly speakini;. In- only is a j)il- 
 fjrim who «ijotlh towards or frowards the House of 
 St. James, l'or there are three separate (hnomina- 
 tions proper mito those who undertake journiys to 
 the jrlory ot Ciod. They are called I'almirs who j;o 
 !)( yond tile seas eastward, wlienee oltiii linv l)rin^- 
 paim-I)raM<-iies. And l'ii<;rims. as I liavi- said, are 
 tiiey wild joiiniiy unto tlie lioiy House of(iallicia; 
 sccinn' tliat no otiier apostle was huried so far from 
 his l)irtlij)Iace ;is was the Messed Saint .lames. ,\nd 
 there is a third sort who are called Homers; in that 
 they ^o whither tliese whom I ha\c called pil^frims 
 went: which is to say. unto Home. 
 
 This .soil uri IS not (Uridcd, iicciiusc its oirii irortls 
 SII f/i eie II 1 1 If (Icrldic it. 
 
 Vk pii^riiii-folk, n(i\ ancin;:,' pensively 
 
 As if in thouyiit of distant thinjrs. I pray. 
 
 Is your own land indeed so far away 
 As hy your aspect it woidd seem to he 
 That tliis our heavy sorrow leaves you I ree 
 
 Thouffli passili^- tlirouiih tiie monrnfui town mid 
 way : 
 
 Like inilo men liiat midi rstaiid to-day 
 Xotliin<r at ail of her <>reat misery.' 
 Vet if ye will hut stay, whom I accost. 
 
 And listen to my words a little space. 
 
 At piiny' ye sh.ill mourn with a l(»ud xmce. 
 It is lur Beatrice that she hath lost; 
 
 Of whom the least word spoken holds such grace 
 That men weep liearin<; it. and have no choice. 
 
 [74]
 
 The Salutaticn of Beatucc in Eden 
 (Dra-wiHjr by D. G. Kossetli)
 
 Clic pfU) Ilifc 
 
 A wliilf aftir tliis<' lliiiij^N. [\\i) gtiitlf ladies snit 
 unto iiif, prayiiif; tliat I would bestow upon tlwin 
 certain of tlitst- idv rliyints. And I (taking; into 
 acrount tluir wortliint-ss and consideration) re- 
 solved that I would write also a new tiling, and s«'nd 
 it them together with those others, to the end that 
 their wishes might be more honourably fulfilled. 
 Therefore I made a soiuiet. wliieh narrates my con- 
 dition, and wliieh I caused to lie conveyed to them, 
 accompanied by tin one preceding, and with that 
 other which begins, " Stay now with me and listen 
 to my sighs." And the new sonnet is, " IJevond the 
 sphere." 
 
 This suiniet comprises fire parts. In the first, I 
 tell trhither nii/ thoitirht iruetii, nainiiig the place l>i/ 
 the name of one of its effects. In the second, I saif 
 wherefore it ^oeth up, and n'ho makes it i^o thns. 
 In the third, I tell what it scnr, namelif, a ladif hon- 
 oured, .ind I then call it a " I'ilirriin Spirit," he- 
 cause it goes up spiritu(dl 11 , and lihe a pilgrim nho 
 is out of his known country. In the fourth, I sai/ 
 how the spirit sees her such (that is, in such 
 qualitif ) that I cannot understand her; that is to sai/, 
 nnf thought rises into the (jualitif of her in a degree 
 that mij intellect cannot compreiiend, seeing that 
 our intellect is, towards those hlesseil souls, lihe our 
 eife weak against the sun; and this the Philosopher 
 saifs in the Second of the .Metaphifsics. In the 
 fifth, I sai/ that, although I cannot see there irhither 
 my thought carries me — that is, to her admirahle 
 essence — / at least understand this, namely, that it 
 is a thought of my lady, hecause I often hear her 
 name therein, .ind, at the end of this fifth part, I 
 say, " Ladies mine," to show that tlicy are ladies 
 to wham I speak. The second part begins, " A new 
 
 [75]
 
 €f)c li^ftu %ìfc 
 
 perception ; " tin- third, " ll'lini it ìuiili reached ; " 
 the fourth, " // .v<'«'.v her such; " the fifth, " And i/et 
 I knoiv." It might be divided i/et more nireli/, and 
 made yet clearer; hut this division mat/ pass, and 
 therefore I stay not to divide it further. 
 
 Beyond the splierc wliicli sjireads to widest space 
 Now soars the si<;h tliat my heart sends above: 
 A new j)eree])tion born of grieving Love 
 
 Guideth it upward the untrodden ways. 
 
 When it hath reached unto the end, and stays. 
 It sees a lady round wlioni sjilendours move 
 In homage; till, by the great liglit thereof 
 
 Abashed, the pilgrim spirit stands at gaze. 
 
 It sees her sueh, that whrn it tells me this 
 \\'iiieh it hath seen, I understand it not, 
 
 It hath a speech so subtile and so fine. 
 And yet I know its voice within my thought 
 
 Often remembereth me of Beatrice : 
 
 So that I understand it, ladies mine. 
 
 After writing this sonnet, it was given unto me 
 to behold a very wonderful vision: wherein I saw 
 things which determined me that I would say noth- 
 ing further of this most blessed one, until such time 
 as I could discourse more worthily concerning her. 
 And to this end I labour all I can; as she well 
 knoweth. Wherefore if it be His pleasure through 
 whom is the life of all things, that my life continue 
 with me a few years, it is my hope that I shall yet 
 write concerning her what hath not before been 
 written of any woman. After the which, may it 
 seem good unto Him who is the Master of Grace, 
 
 [76]
 
 Cfte l^ettJ Itife 
 
 that my spirit should go hence to behold the glory 
 of its lady : to wit, of that blessed Beatrice who now 
 gazeth continually on His countenance qui est per 
 omnia scecula benedictus. Laus Deo. 
 
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